


i love you in colors the eye cannot see

by finaljoy



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Cuddling & Snuggling, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Matt Murdock Needs a Hug, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Past Child Abuse, Romance, Sensuality, but this is a story about trust and healing so they fix them together, claire also has issues but smaller issues, matt is a person shaped mess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-03
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-24 11:13:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 52,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6151825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finaljoy/pseuds/finaljoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt and Claire make things work. Despite the blood, sweat, and tears that they've put each other through, they really, really make things work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. homecoming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't promise that this will have a proper plot. But I can promise lots of serious, dealing-with-our-problems fluff and shots of angst to keep everything well rounded. I don't think we need much else.

"Matt?" Claire called. She was hesitant to enter his apartment, despite the muffled ' _it's open'_ that came almost before her knock. She chewed on her cheek as she finally crossed the threshold, closing the door behind her. She had been back in New York for a few weeks now and was honestly a little surprised Matt hadn't called her before now. Then again, he apparently had that spiffy new costume and didn't need to be put back together again every few days.

Of course, things hadn't been complete radio silence between them. While she had been down in Florida with family, she had received the odd phone call every now and then. Each one kept her up at night, because Matt may have been comfortable causally asking if nausea was a symptom of concussion or if there was a convenient way for a person to relocate their own shoulder, but she most _certainly_ was not.

Otherwise, that had been it. Aside from unexplained and alarming requests for medical advice, he hadn't asked for anything. Hadn't said anything. Hadn't acknowledged _them_ at all. Which was exactly what she had asked for. She was just slightly pissed that _this_ was when he finally chose to listen to her.

Matt gave a pathetic half-moan to show he was on the couch. Claire edged closer and suppressed a sigh.

He was bad. Not on the verge of death, thankfully, but not good. Matt had swaddled himself in sweats, oversized socks, and a sweatshirt, but his face was a fine old mess. And, judging by the way he was huddled up, he had a very unhappy torso.

"What good's that armor if you still get the shit kicked out of you?" she asked, because blunt had always worked well with her before. Matt gave a sad huff that would have been a laugh if not for the wince.

"Kept me from being hacked apart," he told her, like _that_ would make her feel better. "The blunt force is what got me."

"Oh, when you put it _that_ way," she grumbled, scanning him over. "Open the hoodie?"

Matt clumsily unzipped his sweatshirt for her (two of his fingers were taped together, making things a little difficult). He wasn't going to die of blood loss, but the bruising across his side, chest, stomach, other side, and probably his back promised a _lot_ of difficulty in future.

" _Geez,_ " she hissed, tugging one side of the hoodie back. "What are your legs like?"

"Usable," he mumbled, making Claire suck her teeth. She could _not_ deal with this man sometimes.

"You need to invest in arnica," she said. Claire carefully checked his head for any serious blows as she spoke. "No headache or dizziness, right? Remember everything important?"

"No headache or dizziness, and I remember everything important. You're into holistic medicine, though?"

"I'm into whatever works. Don't think you have a concussion, thank goodness. Mind telling me how this happened?"

"Drug ring. Got stupid."

" _Yeah._ "

Claire sat back on her heels, surveying him for a long moment. Even though she was pissed that he was _still_ getting himself jacked up, she wanted to carefully brush some of the hair from his forehead, or maybe rest her hand on the not bruised parts of his face. And that just made her even _more_ pissed, because dammit, she had left the city to avoid this weird, stressful, shoulda-coulda-woulda nonsense. And yet there she was, wading right back in.

"Well," she said, clearing her throat, "not much for me to do here. I'll get you some arnica, help those bruises go down quicker."

"Okay. Thanks. No…no concussion, right?"

"No, you're fine," Claire said, knowing he had heard her the first time. But she also knew that he just wanted to keep her there a little longer, even if it was only for a few seconds, even if she was angry at him, even if nothing came of it. "You should drink some fluids, though."

"Will do," he grunted, giving a slight, dutiful nod.

Claire worked her jaw. Asshole, that was what he was. He was a giant asshole that almost got himself killed, quietly slunk back home, and then didn't even call her until after he had changed. Didn't check in to see how she was doing on her own, all because she had drawn a line in the sand. Stayed away because _reasons,_ but made her go running back to him at the last second. _Asshole._

Matt was quiet, face turned to the floor. Then he tipped his head up and gave her a full dose of unfocused puppy dog eyes. She clenched her teeth and _hoped_ he heard it.

How dare he look so pathetically cute when fumbling his way back from death. He couldn't even see her but he was doing that soft, adorably needy look in her direction, because he could tell where she was from the smell of her fabric softener or whatever. And because he knew, he _knew_ that it would cut through her irritation in a way words never could.

Clair rocked back on her heels, not sure what to do now. Usually her visits were filled with a little more, like stitching him up and then reprimanding him to please, just this once, _stay safe._ Now…there wasn't much left for her to do. A quick diagnosis was it.

No, said the petulant part of her, _no,_ that wasn't _it._ She had come for a reason, and dammit, she had not taken the bus for a five minute awkward fest in his living room while she checked if his brain was swelling. And that reason definitely wasn't because she wanted to see him, it really, really was not.

She glanced around for excuses to stay. Of course, his home was _immaculate._ Not so much as a rug to straighten.

"Do you need anything?" she asked, voice ringing with a resignation coming from her very bones.

"Could you help me get to the kitchen? Want to get a head start on those fluids," he said, shifting forward like he was going to stand up.

"Whoa, whoa, calm down, Murdock, I'll get it," she said, throwing her hands up to keep him down. Neither one of them commented on how her heartbeat leaped as her hands landed on his knee and shoulder.

Claire stood up and walked to his kitchen. She remembered where the cups were, and soon enough she had returned with a glass of water (from the fridge, as apparently the tap tasted too much like every single mineral that washed off the city's pipes).

"You know, someday you won't pretend that you can function like a normal person when in debilitating pain," she told him. She made herself smile as she said it, trying to make her voice a little warmer than blunt and huffy.

Matt gave a smile that was barely more than a tug at the corner of his mouth. He probably knew he was being ridiculous, but Claire knew that was habit by now. The fact he even acknowledged his weakness to her was probably the biggest gesture of trust he could make. That thought made her stomach flip, but also reminded her that she was _angry_ with him. Claire would have much preferred a normal, reasonable boyfriend that gave her baby kisses and flowers, rather than this _guy_ that backflipped off of buildings and flirted with her about music as he stood over dying Russian mobsters and then nearly _died_ every other week.

(…no, she wouldn't, probably. Nice guy Matt Murdock would have been nice, but nice had yet to stick around in her life. Plus this Matt had the hellacious determination to stay very much in place.)

Claire handed Matt the cup. She knew she didn't need to carefully guide it into his hand, he could have reached out and grabbed it just fine, but she did anyway. And it wasn't because that tiny, non-medical oriented touch was stomach jolting and completely wonderful. That literally had _nothing_ to do with it.

Matt gave her another tiny half-smile, this one a little more covert than the last. Oh, he was onto her.

"Thank you," he said, ever maintaining his impeccable manners.

Claire sat back on the coffee table and sighed through her nose. Obviously Matt wasn't going to send her away, and she…she didn't know. Claire didn't want to leave, not yet. Not when he was sipping water and listening to her instead of going on a vengeance streak or not nearly dying in her lap.

And…there were still a thousand things that needed to be said. Things that could only be delivered in bits and pieces around the anger and adrenaline and liters and liters of Matt's blood. But Claire _also_ didn't want to get into that, either. She wasn't interested in their pointless test of wills, especially not when she barely knew which way her head was going these days.

Matt set the glass of water on the floor and returned to the fetal position. His eyes were half-lidded, sleepy after the long day. Claire watched him as the only noises in the apartment were their breaths and the softened sounds of the city outside. Steady, comfortable, calm.

Claire grit her teeth. She had left to _prevent_ this from being comfortable, to keep herself from seeing this strange, unhealthy thing as normal. She couldn't do this, she couldn't sit there and constantly ping back and forth between being angry at Matt and wanting to stroke his hair. She couldn't lie awake at night, afraid he was bleeding out without her, afraid he was losing his soul while she ran away even while she felt so damnably certain she was _right._

"Are you going to stay?" he mumbled.

Claire didn't answer, other than to take a deep breath and let it out again. She could see the tension ease out of each one of his muscles, an exhausted trance settling over him. He wanted so much from her, but he never asked because Matt knew it was more than she could ever give.

Claire resisted putting her head in her hands. She knew by now that what Matt wanted and needed were drastically different things.

He needed a hospital, but he didn't want a hospital. He wanted her to care for him, and was content to lay by her side in whatever bloodstained, exhausted, reserved capacity she would allow, but it was unclear if that was what he needed. And, of course, he deserved a hug, but Claire didn't know if he understood the concept of receiving something without half-killing himself first.

She got to her feet, making Matt drag in a breath. He tilted his face toward her ever so slightly, heart half-broken before she had even taken a step.

"Scoot over," she said, waving her hands as though that would get him to move faster.

"Huh?"

"Scoot. Your boot."

Reluctantly, Matt began to sit up and make room for her. He winced and a hand twitched toward his ribs. Cracked, probably, or at the very least bruised.

"No, no, not that way. Here," she sighed, stepping closer.

Matt paused, then eased himself back down when she nudged him into the couch cushions. She bit her cheek. This wasn't a commitment, it was a kind and friendly gesture and it was as good as she could give because Matt had just had the shit stomped out of him and probably couldn't handle a hug.

Claire laid down beside Matt, her body curving into his. She could feel him stiffen next to her, probably scrambling to read her pulse, her breath, probably her freaking sweat glands, but she clenched her teeth and made herself stay quiet. She knew her heart was pounding and her face was hot and her hands and toes were clenched very, very tight, and she knew it was because she was being stupid, stupid, stupid, _stupid_ beyond belief. She honestly did not need any more personal complications in her life for as long as she lived.

"Uhm, Claire?" he asked, struggling to get his voice out.

" _Yes_?"

_Okay, not so testy, cowgirl._

"Mind…mind explaining to me what's…going on?"

"Physical contact promotes healing," she blurted, then closed her eyes. Kill her now. Kill her now and throw her body into the Hudson. That did _not_ sound like the noble friendly act she had intended it to be. "Skin to skin contact promotes healing. Oxytocin, stuff like that."

Claire wasn't sure if it was the rampant _'do not fight me Matt Murdock'_ tone in her voice or the fact that Matt wasn't about to protest her basically cuddling with him, but he didn't point out that they weren't _actually_ touching skin. That was probably wise. Claire was fairly certain she would turn around and smother him with a pillow if he did, no questions asked, Hippocratic oath be damned.

Matt took a slow, shallow breath, and when he exhaled she could feel it on her hair. She was a little afraid to move, even though her arm was wedged between the couch cushion and her body, and her legs were smashed together to keep from getting _too_ snuggly with him (this was for platonic healing purposes. _platonic healing purposes)_. Matt was a stone behind her, quietly taking things in.

Then he melted into her back, completely relaxing with a sigh that gave her an almost physical hurt. Claire closed her eyes and inhaled. She held it until she felt light headed and then slowly, slowly let it out. Matt gingerly reached over her and draped his arm across her side. His taped fingers found her hand and after a moment's hesitation he held it.

"There," he whispered. "Skin to skin contact."

Claire closed her eyes as a shiver went up her back. She wasn't sure who fell asleep first, but she knew that she left before Matt woke up.


	2. make it better

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First this was disgustingly sweet, and then it wasn't. I have no regrets.

Matt healed. He went to work, kept a man wrongfully accused of assault out of jail, went out with Foggy and Karen, kept slogging through the streets. He stayed more or less safe.

It was the first time he had almost regretted not being very, very injured. The dark fruity scent of Claire's hair had faded from his home after the second day, but if he strained he could almost taste it; red, almost purple in nature. At night, though, Matt could still feel her next to him. When he turned off his ears and his nose and his tongue, he could focus instead on the way her lungs had expanded in her chest and how her pulse had skittered against the skin of her neck, her wrists, her ankles, the back of her knees, the creases of her elbows. The way she had let herself, just for that moment, hold onto his hand.

He never let himself think about how cold and alone he had felt when he awoke to find her gone, just like he hadn't let himself entertain false hope by calling out for her. Matt Murdock had many flaws, but he, by large, was a man of self-denial. That could apply to denying painful memories just as easily as denying temptation.

He had thought about calling her in the days after, but he wasn't sure how to start a phone conversation with Claire that didn't being with ' _I think I may have bruised my ribs. And broken some toes._ ' And he didn't know what she wanted anymore. Claire had been very clear when she said she was leaving town and never coming back, not to what they had or could have been. It had left an ache in his chest like her stitches; neat, precise, and allegedly meant to help him in the long run.

But Matt had become good at stifling his aches and pains. He could exist this way, without the strong curves of her face reflecting his heartbeat back at him or the delicious dark scent of her lotion lingering in the air.

Although, he apparently couldn't exist without her help.

 _There's something funny about this,_ he thought, fumbling for the burner phone. He may have been too potentially concussed to realize it.

"Hello?" Claire asked, voice tight and tired.

"Hey," he grunted, then made himself breathe. Adrenaline was still cutting through his system, sending sound and smell catapulting over him. Her removed whisper in his ear helped anchor him, call him back to what he needed. "I—uhm, I…"

"How badly are you hurt?"

"I think I might have a concussion, and…maybe fractured my arm."

" _Alright,_ " she sighed. "Come on over."

His throat tightened at how _good_ her voice felt against his skin.

Matt managed to reach Claire's apartment, even with the fire escape ladder clearly trying to make an already questionable night worse. Thankfully Claire had left the window open for him.

"You do _not_ have horns on your head," she said.

Matt let out a laugh of surprise, then shrugged. "It seemed…fitting."

"More like _perverse,_ " Claire scoffed, but he heard the laugh in her voice. She slid the window shut against the cold. "Geez, you'd probably scare the sin out of them before you even landed a punch."

"I wouldn't say no to that. If it keeps them from taking a swing…"

"Like you could handle taking the easy route."

Matt had never had anyone to verify, but he was fairly certain Claire was someone that liked rolling their eyes.

"I hope you didn't neglect to tell me about any open wounds," she continued, voice a little more serious.

"No," he half chuckled, half groaned. "No open wounds."

"Except for that beast on your lip," she said, concern tingeing her voice. He felt her move around the couch.

"It's just a split lip."

Claire snorted and waved him over, stirring the air with her scent and pushing the grunge of the city from his nose.

"Come sit down before you hurt yourself."

Matt moved toward her, obediently opening his suit so she could survey the damage. He felt her eyes on him, examining every inch of his body for something amiss. She determined that his possible concussion was actually a painful bump on the head and an impressive case of exhaustion and battle fatigue. She checked his arm, sucking her teeth when he winced at her touch.

"I can't tell if it's only a bruise or—oh, speaking of bruises, I have the arnica for you." Claire turned away to thumb through her bag. Matt straightened a little. "I meant to get it to you earlier, but..."

"No, it's okay," he said, stomach tightening. She probably hadn't delivered it because of their moment on the couch. Did she regret it, wish it hadn't happened? He hoped not. Matt certainly didn't regret it. It may have kept the wounds open longer, but he would hold that moment close for as long as he could.

(He was _by large_ a man of self-denial. That didn't mean he could do it all the time.)

"Here, uhm, take off your shirt. We'll just put it on now."

He slipped off the black t-shirt he was wearing beneath his suit, ignoring Claire's soft sigh of resignation.

"Amazing you could go out with you torso as hurt as it is," she murmured.

Matt opted to not respond, knowing that if he did he would let out a moan of pain.

"Here, I'll do the ones on your back," she said, words accompanied with the snap of the tube lid opening. Matt smelled the flat, creamy medicinal scent of the arnica, then tried to focus on the smell rather than her smoothing her hands over his skin.

The lotion was cooler than he expected, but it felt nice against the steady ache of his back. He had known there were a lot of bruises, but he hadn't realized how many until Claire spread it over most of his skin.

"What are the instructions?" he asked, lulled by the steady, silent care she was giving him. This was _much_ better than receiving stitches.

"Uhm," she hummed, pausing to consult the directions label. "Apply two to four times a day. Stop if things get worse, don't improve, or you get a rash."

"Charming," he scoffed.

"Yeah, well, facts are facts. Should be better in a few days. Also, don't apply it to open wounds."

He heard her take an extra slow breath like she was biding her time, contemplating what she'd say next. Matt stayed quiet, heart going a little faster because not even the best senses in the world could tell him when she was going to deliver bad news.

"If you…if you want, I could come over and put this on your back. Only once a day, but…"

"No, I'll be fine," he said softly.

This was an olive branch, or at least, the first real attempt for them to move past…Matt really didn't know what to call it. He didn't have the words to describe their situation, but he did know that whatever muted heartbreak it was, Claire was offering him an out. He also knew that he didn't want to take it. At this point, he didn't really know if he could differentiate between 'move past' and 'try again'. So instead he gave her a tired smile and shook his head.

"Save your train pass."

"Alright," she said lightly, carefully raising his injured arm to rub some leftover lotion on his side. "You should probably get a sling for that," she added, gently touching the non-injured part of his arm.

"Probably."

"Hear any creaking ships?" she asked, the warm chocolate of a smile in her voice.

"A little," he smiled back, trying not to miss her touch when she pulled her hands away.

He could tell there was still something she was biting back, something perched on her tongue that she wanted to say. But he could also tell that she wasn't ready to say it aloud as she carefully applied bandaids and stern medical advice. Not yet.

"You gonna be able to get home alright?" she asked, turning her attention to the cut on his lip.

"Yeah, I'll—I'll be fine. It's not that far," he said. He pulled his shirt back on to give himself time to control his expression.

"Someday," Claire mused with that flat, put upon tone he had come to know so well, "you'll leave some clothes lying around so you don't have to acrobat your way through Hell's Kitchen when you're beat to pieces."

"Are you offering me a drawer?" he quipped. The words were out, catapulting to a very awkward conclusion if not full on catastrophe before he could even think ' _wait no'._

But as yet another testament to the marvelous and unwarranted grace of God, Claire snorted.

"Yeah, a drawer full of sweats, medical tape, and spare pain killers," she said, packing up her bag. "Maybe some shades and a cane, if you feel like being _really_ normal."

"A blind beat up guy in Hell's Kitchen this late? Even I'm not that dumb."

"Coulda fooled me," she said, voice getting a little dimmer as a floorboard near her kitchen creaked.

Claire put away the med kit and for a moment Matt let himself listen to the sound of her heartbeat, relaxed and good humored and all he ever wanted to hear strolling through her veins.

He'd missed this. He had missed how easy things were with her, how easy things had been before he donned his mask and put everything on the line. He had missed how she took his quest in stride but did it with an exasperated sigh. He missed being able to talk to her without it all blowing up in his face.

"Claire…"

Instantly her pulse sped up, worry catching in her blood at the sound of her name. He felt a thin smile spread across his face. He hadn't had a reason to speak, he just wanted the friendly touch of her name passing his lips. And that made her stressed. He should have guessed.

Matt dragged in a breath. "Where were you while you were gone?"

She paused for a moment, then sighed through her nose. Claire leaned against the doorframe, distancing himself from the conversation, from him. The room felt just barely colder with her so far away.

"Florida," she finally told him. "Miami. I've got some family down there and…I stayed with them."

"Was it nice?" he asked. He knew his eyes were pointed at the ground, but his face was tilted toward her ever so slightly. He didn't want her to know how much he was interested in what she had done, how often he had pictured her in this place or that, being safe and happy and sometimes, rarely, briefly, being with him.

(They were stupid thoughts, stupid, stupid, painful thoughts that made him so, _so_ happy for half a second.)

"Yeah, nice change of pace. Good to see family for the first time in a while."

"Nice to not be on call every other night?" he asked, because jokes were good, jokes got him through with her. Jokes showed that he still thought about them a lot but that he always gave her an out if she wanted it.

"Didn't quite feel that way," she scoffed, and Matt had to chuckle. That was probably aimed toward his ambiguous question about nausea and concussions (which hadn't even been about him, but a boy he was trying to save from an abusive gang banger of a girlfriend. Claire hadn't asked, though, and he hadn't had time to explain.)

"But…yeah, it was nice."

Matt heard the mild smile in her voice, felt the slight uptick to the corners of her mouth. It felt sad, though, the same kind of sad as the time they'd met before she went to Florida, the same kind of sad as when she had said ' _I didn't think I was ever going to see you again'._

"Why did you come back?" he asked, a whisper, a worry, a regret.

He focused on her, needing every breath and beat of the heart and tiny movement she made to understand what she might do next. Reading people was difficult. He had figured out little tricks like noticing when people lied or were trying to hide their anxiety or were in love, but knowing how specific people would act took time. Foggy was easy to read. His dad had been easy to read. Stick was, when he didn't care that Matt knew what he was feeling. Karen was getting easier, but Claire…Claire was hard. He didn't know much about her, despite his hunger for every detail. He knew the intimate smell of her lotion and the difference of her mending his body and her putting her hands on his skin, but he couldn't tell when she was simmering, when she was hiding something, when she was perfectly and completely content. He knew so precious _little_ about Claire.

The silence between them felt so, so long.

"I told you I would," Claire said, an almost hostile edge to her defensiveness.

"I know," he said gently, "I know. Whenever I really needed you, I remember. I…wasn't it easier, though? To stay gone?"

"It never felt easy."

"I tried not to bother you, Claire."

" _Bother_ me—Matt, _silence_ from you bothers me! Not knowing you're _alive_ bothers me!"

He swallowed as her voice rose to almost a shout. Of course. It had been too easy to think that this peace between them could last. Not when they were so diametrically opposed. That was...probably for the best.

Matt didn't know what to say to her, though. He didn't want to prove her wrong beyond a shadow of a doubt, didn't want to lay her low because of his argumentative prowess. He didn't want to fight her at all. But what else was left? She didn't want excuses or evasions, and he sure as hell wasn't about to start lying to her. That was one thing he _swore_ to himself he would keep okay.

"I never meant to make you worry."

"How could I _not_ when the only time I ever saw you, you were _dying?_ " Anger was making her face burn, sending harsh fragments of heat across the room to spear him. Matt turned his face away like that would help.

"I thought…it probably doesn't matter what I think," he mumbled.

Claire sighed, and he thought she put her hand to her head. Her pulse was a jagged rhythm in her chest, fighting against the cars and the sirens and the wails of pain outside. "Matt, no…it matters. What you think matters. I mean, what _you_ think _started_ this whole thing."

"I…I just thought it would be easier to leave you in peace," he said, not giving himself time to be confused by her compliment. Or denial. He wasn't sure how to categorize ' _what you think matters'_. "I've caused you so much trouble, Claire, and you never asked that. So you being gone…you deserved the break. You deserved not having to worry about me. I'm sorry I made it tough for you to do that."

She was silent for a few long moments, not moving, not speaking, barely breathing. Matt wished his hearing was good enough to catch the whisper of her thoughts.

"Thank you," she said, and the words sounded so _wrong_ that he almost flinched. She shouldn't have been thanking him, he had just listed the pile of reasons why she should have been _cursing_ him. "I know this is hard for you, too, trying to look after an entire city. But…thank you for trying to help me."

"The least I can do," he said, forcing out a quick smile. He needed to pull them back, he needed to pull them back now. If he kept pouring this confession out at her feet, he might do something stupid like say how much it had _pained_ him to not call her every week so he could hear her voice.

"Yeah, sure," Claire said. She didn't mean it.

She walked toward him, finally breaking into the no man's land that was the majority of her living room. He heard her swallow as she neared, the action heavy in his ears.

"You get yourself home," she said, voice a little more jerky than before. "Remember—"

"Let myself heal, I know, I got it," he said, easing to his feet.

His desire to stay near Claire succumbed to his need to escape from her. He had to get out of her house before they started arguing for real. He couldn't handle that, he could not face himself if he truly burned one of the last bridges he was clinging to.

Matt lied and gave her another smile, promising that he was alright, that they were alright (it didn't count as lying, though, if it was customary and she knew he _always_ lied about his well being? He hadn't messed _that_ up as well, had he?). Claire gave a slight huff and followed him to the fire escape.

He felt her lean against the window frame as he stepped out onto the stairs. Claire didn't close the window right away, but instead called, "And don't forget to get yourself a sling for that arm!"

He gave her a slight wave and swung off the fire escape. He hadn't earned a proper good-bye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Claire's lotion is Midnight Pomegranate by Bath and Bodyworks. Matt normally dislikes their products because it's always waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay too strong, but he loves it on Claire.
> 
> (Matt smells like lemongrass and Catholic guilt and SUNSHINE)


	3. try, try again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So if you haven't guessed by now, this story is basically deep conversations with some angst and cute and synesthesia styled descriptions.

Going back to Claire's place felt like adding insult to injury after their argument. It had only been a few days, after all. Matt desperately hoped he could deal with the knife wound in his arm by himself, but it took all of half a block to realize he needed stitches. Dammit.

Claire's voice was stiff when she answered. He grimaced, wishing he didn't always make her life so impossible.

"What's wrong?"

"Just a knife cut on my arm. I think it needs stitches."

"I don't even want to know what you were doing to need stitches so early in the night," she grumbled.

Matt wisely held back any comments on his own disappointment at having to quit so early. It would only fan his issues with Claire.

"Come on over, then. You're not bleeding bad enough to pass out on your way, right?"

"No, nothing that bad."

"Alright, then."

When had exasperated resignation become a full on invitation in his life?

Matt crossed the rooftops and street blocks to Claire's apartment. He hesitated as he climbed down to her window, both his arm and his worries cradled against his chest. She had sounded so _angry_ the last time they had spoken. Each time he played it back Claire felt more hurt and more disgusted and more hopeless. It was at times like these he didn't blame her for leaving. And yet, if she hadn't maybe her scared, saddened refusal wouldn't have hardened, turning heated and unpredictable. He felt guilty. If he hadn't asked for so much, if he hadn't demanded her time and silence and trust and help and then gone that extra greedy mile and taken her love…

He climbed through her open window and stumbled to the table. The warmth of her apartment felt like an unearned luxury after the disapproving chill of the night. He remembered halfway across the room to close the window, but Claire was already sliding it shut behind him.

"I thought that fancy new suit was supposed to keep you from getting hurt," Claire said. Her voice wasn't hostile, which was encouraging. He had to tread lightly if he wanted to keep it that way. Matt couldn't bear fighting with her again. Not yet, not so soon.

"It _does,_ " he said, sitting directly on the table. He didn't have the energy to drag a chair into place. "But it doesn't stop all wounds."

He neatly forgot to tell her that though the red material was the dominant part of his suit, it also happened to be the weakest. He doubted Claire valued aesthetic appeal over safety.

Claire clicked her tongue like she had heard his thoughts anyway. She dropped the med kit on the table beside him, her heat an unfocused brush on his left.

"I guess a little blood is better than a ton," she mused, voice losing its worried edge and becoming objective like nurses were supposed to be. Claire helped him ease out of the top half of his suit, ignoring his grunt of pain as she picked the material away from his wound.

"Not too bad," she said. "It doesn't look too deep, you'll only need a couple stitches this time."

Claire walked to the kitchen to fetch some water to clean the wound. Matt waited in silence. The warm air had taken the sting off his face and hands, but he still didn't feel comfortable. His muscles were tense, and not just from the aftermath of the fight.

This was the first time he had ever had to face Claire right after an argument. Normally when he disappeared, he had a few more days or weeks to gather his defenses and figure out how he wanted to dismantle her anger. He had time to assemble his response and solidify the defenses she managed to shake loose with each pointed truth. Now he was off balance, unsure what he was supposed to do.

Matt felt uneasy and disoriented sitting in Claire's apartment. Every second was a new challenge as he tried to figure out when and if she would snap. He should have waited to come until later, until she had cooled off, until he didn't have to deal with what had been said. Which only made him feel like a coward. A pathetic, pathetic coward.

 _For God hath not given us the spirit of fear,_ he thought, the Bible verse floating to mind on reflex. The second part ( _but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind_ ) was a little slower to come. Some things, like crime fighting, came in leaps and bounds. Others came in shuffling steps.

Claire returned and dropped a bottle next to him. He didn't hear the clatter of pills, though, telling him she wasn't about to pick another fight over him using pain killers. That was good. He was too exhausted and on edge to make a coherent argument.

"Drink that," Claire ordered, scooting the bottle closer to his hand in way of subtle insistence. "I'm guessing you haven't eaten since, what, seven?"

"Eight," he corrected.

Claire scoffed. "Drink your damn Gatorade, Matt."

He smiled to himself and took a drink. His mouth quirked at the taste (Gatorade always managed to taste too strong and too watery and too _weird_ ), but he obediently sipped it down.

This time when Claire tended to him, the soft touch of her fingers on his skin didn't send shivers up his spine. There was nothing tender about the moment. It was capable and clinical with all emotion buried behind a concrete wall. Exactly what Claire had asked for. Exactly what he had intended to give her, but...things hadn't exactly gone as planned.

Matt was quiet at first, still hesitant to disrupt anything. Claire was in an alright mood, which was something, but she usually was before they argued. Claire's default was probably happy and relaxed, he just happened to sour it. He couldn't keep her safe. He couldn't keep her happy. No wonder she had needed a break.

"So what happened?" Claire asked, clearly having forgotten her earlier stance of not wanting to know. Her tone was almost conversational as she cleaned his wound. "I didn't even have time to change into my jammies."

"A gang of car thieves. I was following down a lead, didn't think it would pan out that quickly. They got me by surprise."

"That seems to be a trend with you," Claire said absently, dabbing the wound clean.

Matt pursed his lips but left it alone. He needed to keep himself in check. Claire wasn't at fault because he couldn't keep anything together for more than a few seconds.

"You know, when you talk like that you sound more like a sleuth than a vigilante," she continued, this time actually expecting a response.

"I do?"

"Mm-hm. Tracking down a lead, trailing a witness, gathering evidence…"

"Well, I'm a lawyer, remember?" he asked. He forced a smile as he took another sip of Gatorade, then scowled as the taste hit him. Honestly, _anything_ would have been better than this. He would only be able to taste fake strawberries and red dye for days. "The story doesn't end after they're arrested. I want what I'm doing to last."

Claire let out a slow sigh through her nose. "Well, I guess that's one way to look at it."

They both fell silent as Claire began sewing his arm closed. Matt breathed deep and tried to focus on the sharp pain of Claire's stitches. He needed to clear his head, he needed to shake this surliness that was hanging over him. He was in charge of his body and mind.

As Matt tried to marshal himself, Claire continued her work. Her efforts never faltered as she carefully stitched and tied the wound closed.

Even though Claire continually complained about the limited care she could offer without hospital equipment, Matt was always distinctly aware of where her abilities outstripped his. His care usually petered out after superglue and a few ungainly sutures. Her stitches were neater, her hand steadier, her method undoubtedly cleaner. She really was a gift he didn't deserve.

Claire wrapped a bandage around his forearm, then peeled off her gloves. She carried away her med kit and the bowl of bloody water. Matt waited with her lotion battling the smell of the blood and latex gloves. Matt held off slipping back into his suit as he waited. He was tired and aching now that the adrenaline had left him, and even though he still felt tense…Claire was Claire. He would always be drawn to her.

"How's your arm? The fractured one, I mean," she said, sitting back down. Her words were accompanied by the soft tap and gentle slosh of a drink in a plastic cup.

"It's been worse," he said. He had neglected to get the sling as she had suggested, but he had made sure to cut back on the street time and double down on the meditation until it was usable.

Claire laughed, her chair creaking as she leaned back.

"Why do you always do that?" she asked.

"Do what?"

He felt cautious as he edged into the subject. They were still walking a line between devolving into a new argument and moving past their old one. But Claire's voice had a worn chuckle in it and her heartbeat and posture were relaxed.

"You always seem to add _qualifiers._ Things are good—for now _._ You arm's not great—but it's seen worse. Nothing's just black and white for you."

"I guess I see too much for that," he said softly. "Have...I always done that?"

"I don't know," she said. Her voice was little distorted as she took another drink. "It's just something I've noticed since coming back."

He nodded, mouth tightening as he thought about her time away from him. She had left and come back because of how he had been acting, and yet he had allowed himself to stay the same frustrating person as always.

"Claire—" he began, but she cut him off.

"Mm-mm, no. If it's more thanks for being a decent human being or, heaven forbid, another _apology,_ I'm kicking you out into the cold."

Matt closed his mouth, trying to think of a way to finish his thought without violating her rules.

"I…meant what I said last time. I never intended you to worry. You deserve a rest more than anyone else. I meant that, and I should have tried harder to let you have it."

Claire sighed again. She shifted, but he couldn't tell what she was doing. She might have been watching him, toying with her cup, might have been sitting perfectly still and glaring at him. The stream of sounds, smells, tastes and touches that he normally was so good at deciphering was nothing more than a jumble. He needed to _focus._

"You not trying hard enough was never the issue," she finally murmured.

Matt tensed in case she was gearing up for another fight, but Claire changed topics.

"Anyway, I think _you_ need a rest. And I'm not even getting into the whole vigilante debate," she said, cutting over the beginnings of his protests. "I just think I'm doing us _both_ a favor if I make sure there's at least _one_ night where you're not out getting some shit kicked."

"Mine or theirs?" he asked, earning a laugh.

Her heartbeat was up, her nerves betraying her nonchalant tone. He wasn't going to argue with it, though. It was a cheap, easy out, but it was still the only safe escape he could find. He went with the black jokes and the offers without bandages or blood because it was less painful than where they had been a few moments before.

"Depends on the day, I guess. Anyway, there's going to be this _thing_ next week. A lady upstairs, her son is coming home from school and she's making paella to celebrate."

"Paella?" he asked, almost breathless from surprise. This was...not where he had expected the night's conversation to end up.

"Mm-hm. Ever had it?"

"Uh, once? Foggy ordered it for me in college."

"Well, this is going to be ten times better," she promised. She leaned toward him as she spoke, close enough for him to feel the heat of her shoulder if he just reached out his hand. "Mrs. Escamilla's going to do classic Spanish have-everyone-over-to-eat-and-celebrate styled paella, so…the offer's there, if you want it."

"What day is this?"

"Tuesday. I mean, if nothing else, eating by yourself gets kinda lonely, so if you'd like free food and company… It'll be late, so you'll have to put your other night activities on hold."

"Yeah, I think I can do that," he said. He was trying his best to remain calm and controlled and not run away with himself, because things were still _so_ very not fine. But still, Claire was offering him something more, freely, openly, without him ever having to ask. Or having to bleed first.

Matt smiled and reached out to touch her arm in way of thank you. He got the soft fabric of her shirt, then the hard edge of her elbow, but her heart didn't kick up a few dozen notches, so he kept it there. He could smell the warm, sweet smell of her shampoo, muted under the juicy dark smell of her lotion, glossed over by the delicate touch of her fabric softener. He didn't reach for her fingers and he didn't lean forward to kiss her. Matt just allowed himself that one moment of touch when he was encompassed by the smell of her.

"Well then," she said after a moment, and he politely pulled back. Claire clapped her hands together and heaved herself out of her chair. "You're good to go. Stay safe as you head home."

Matt nodded, forcing himself off the table. He took another drink from his bottle, just to make her happy, then eased back into his suit.

"Take it easy," she told him.

"You too, Claire. Stay safe."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> someone help matt love himself.


	4. progress in peacetime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so here's some sorta cute stuff byeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee
> 
> (Note I said sorta because this isn't a REAL date, it's a STRESS date. There's a difference.)

Claire heard the _tak tak tak_ of Matt's cane before he knocked. She glanced at the clock. Almost eight-thirty.

"Gimme a sec," she called, stepping around some of her packing boxes as she hurried to the door. She opened it, then took a second to take him in.

Matt was in his lawyer clothes; a sharp, light grey suit over a white shirt and dark green tie. Matt smiled at her, hair properly combed, eyes hidden behind his glasses.

"Matt, hey," she said, trying not to sound breathless.

"I would have gone straight up, but I didn't know when it started," he said, tone holding an apology she doubted he meant. "And calling you from the burner seemed like a good way to give you a heart attack, so I came a little early."

"Only you would think eight-thirty is early," she said, folding her arms. He shrugged, his smile lighting up the whole hall.

Claire stepped back and gestured him inside. "Here, hold on a sec. I just need to grab my shoes."

Matt quietly waited for her in the entryway as she went to her room. Claire took the moment away from him to rally herself. She had invited him as an act of good will, to show that their argument hadn't meant anything serious. He could still rely on her despite their disagreements. Claire hadn't expected the actual event to be so nerve-wracking.

Even before Matt had stepped into her apartment, Claire had been slightly freaking out over their plans, which manifested itself in panicking about her wardrobe. She hadn't _really_ dressed up for the occasion, it was just totally casual paella after all. But she had guessed Matt would be dapper as ever, and she was _not_ about to let the blind man make her look like crap. So, shooting for the dressy side of casual, Claire had done her makeup and chosen her clothes. And then chosen new ones. And then changed her mind again. Now Claire was wearing a loose blue cotton shirt with dark grey jeans and her guilty pleasure pastel yellow slip-ons. Nice looking, Claire looking clothes.

Not that she was dressing up for the blind man. She was dressing up to be seen _with_ the blind man. If she was actually dressing up, which she wasn't. She was chill.

"You know, we need a different form of communication," Claire said, coming back into the main room. She sounded calm. This was good.

"I thought about getting—"

"If you offer me another burner phone, I'm going to throw it at your head," Claire told him, grabbing her keys and cell from the counter.

Matt was silent as they backed out of the apartment and she locked the door.

"Where's your phone?" she asked, rolling her eyes. Matt was impossibly predictable in his need for safety through stilted distance. He frowned at her, not understanding. "Your phone, Matt, where is it?"

"Here…?" he said, pulling it from his breast pocket.

"Here," she said, plucking it from his hand and opening up his contacts before she thought about what she was doing. Claire entered her info, then sent a text to her phone. Matt stood there like he wasn't sure what to do.

"There you go," she said, handing him the phone. She added him as a contact in her own address book. _Matt._ She didn't miss the way it nestled in beside ' _Mike'._

"I…thank you," he said dumbly, slipping his phone into his pocket.

Claire smiled as she walked to the staircase and held the door open for him. Matt automatically took her position and gestured her through. Clearly, he was hardwired to hold doors open for women as well as demand perfection from himself. Claire rolled her eyes yet again, though she was smothering a smile as she stepped through.

"Tell me when the last step is?" he asked quietly. "It…echoes in here."

Claire blinked in surprise. She had never expected a man that mapped out rooms by sound and smell to be uncertain how many steps were in the staircase. She nodded, somehow touched by his request.

"Yeah, sure. No problem," she said, taking the lead up the steps.

He nodded in return, face turned a little down after his request. Claire bit her cheek, getting the distinct feeling that he didn't ask many people for help with his disability. Not for real.

"Here," she said, gently touching his hand when he reached the last step. They rounded the corner and started up the next set of stairs. "So, feel a little odd in your lawyer suit this time of night?"

Matt shrugged. "I was always raised to make a good first impression, so not really. Not if I'm meeting new people."

"Where'd you go wrong with _me?_ " she snorted, refusing to think of all the potential answers (field medicine for mobsters and the city blowing up and one empty voice mail saying he was alright). "Here's the last step, by the way."

She held the door for him as they left the stairwell, this time standing firm so he had to walk through first. She liked to think it was her being more contrary than petty.

" _Oh,_ " Matt whispered.

"What?"

"I could smell it walking up to your floor, but…" Matt trailed off, and soon Claire could smell the paella, too. Savory herbs and tomato and seafood all tumbled together to make the hall _delicious._

"Isn't this better than drug dealers?" she teased, walking down to Mrs. Escamilla's apartment.

" _Yes,_ " Matt said emphatically.

Mrs. Escamilla's door was open, letting happy noise bleed out. A few people were standing in the hall, and Claire recognized Santino speaking to a man from a few doors down. He started at the sight of Matt, panic spreading across his face.

"Hey, Santino," Claire said, giving him a ' _keep it **shut** ' _look. "Is Mrs. Escamilla in there?"

"Y-yes, she's in the kitchen," he said, eyes flicking between her and Matt. His friend gave a big hello to the two of them, oblivious to Santino's panic. Claire didn't know which struck her the most: Santino's panic over Daredevil at her side or his friend eyeing Matt's cane and glasses.

They slid into the crowded apartment, bracing themselves against the laughing, chattering, celebrating people. The smell of the paella was even stronger inside, making Claire's mouth water. She normally liked the energy of a good, wholesome party, but now she felt a little uncomfortable, out of place in the wild mix of bodies. Maybe it was because Matt was with her this time.

Matt quietly reached up to touch her elbow after the first few steps. She tried to act like she didn't notice, but Claire couldn't help but glance back, just once. She wasn't certain what she'd expected him to look like. Stressed and awkward, maybe, flinching away from shouts and loud laughter, huddling in on himself at every stray touch. But found him relaxed and wearing easy smile . He looked normal, holding his cane up by his chest to keep it from tangling in people's legs. The only giveaway to his powers were the tiny course corrections sparing him from an errant elbow or hand.

"Mrs. Escamilla," Claire called once they entered the small kitchen. The woman turned from the stove, wooden spoon in hand.

"Claire!" she said, beaming as she looked up. Mrs. Escamilla's friendship with Claire had always amused her. Claire had considered them acquaintances that saw each other sometimes when they did laundry, but she had been forced to reconsider things when Mrs. Escamilla started delivering cookies and gossip. "And your friend, who is it?"

"Matt Murdock," he said, stepping forward and swapping hands on his cane to shake her hand.

"Oh, he's a good boy," Mrs. Escamilla said, shooting Claire an impressed look.

Claire smiled in satisfaction, but then her stomach tightened. People were going to assume—

"I hope you don't mind me crashing the party," he said with that sweet, upstanding, church going, take-home-to-meet-the-parents sort of tone in his voice. It was an honest effort for Claire not to heave yet another enormous eye roll.

"Oh no, I barely know half the people here and my son knows even less," she laughed. "Please, enjoy the food. Food and friends, that is what tonight is for!"

"Thank you," he said, then fell back to stand by Claire.

"Go on, you two, go have fun! Meet some new people, hear good stories."

"Okay, thank you," Claire said. She touched Matt on the elbow to guide him away. He turned with her, a careful brush on her arm.

"How good are you?" she asked, just low enough for him to hear.

"I'm alright."

" _Matt._ "

"I'm okay," he insisted. "There's just…a lot going on."

"But you still…"

"I won't be running around, no. But there doesn't seem to be enough room in here for that."

Claire smiled and shook her head. "Let's dive in?" she suggested. He bobbed his head, holding onto his cane with both hands like it was nothing more than an out of use umbrella.

Claire guided Matt to one of the familiar faces in the crowd, Daisy from across the hall. Daisy was arguing whether veganism had health benefits (Daisy, despite her free-spirited name, had very conservative world views). Claire was dragged in for her professional experience, while Matt played devil's advocate. His tone was polite enough to keep people from realizing he was poking holes in their arguments until they started sinking.

" _Okay,_ no!" Ethan from another complex snapped, jabbing a good-natured finger at Matt. "You can't talk about 'true vegans' having a more balanced diet in one breath, then say they're going to die of deficiencies the next!"

"It's all about context," Matt said, tilting his head. He was wearing a mild smile despite the noise and press of people, like he had forgotten them in his delight at having been caught. " _If_ they do veganism properly, I would say they're healthier than ninety percent of people in America. If it's more of a trend than a lifestyle, then they're asking for trouble."

"If _anyone_ eats properly, they're better than ninety percent of America," Daisy said, rolling her eyes. "Grease and cardboard do not a healthy body make."

"Absolutely not. But you can't use people who don't know what they're doing as a reason why veganism isn't healthy."

"What is it you do again?" Chelsea from Claire didn't know where asked, squinting at Matt. He tilted his head toward her, a slightly cocky smile on his face.

"I'm a lawyer."

" _Oh geez,_ " Ethan said, tossing his hands up. "Claire, way to warn us."

"Hey, if you're willing to seek my opinion as a nurse, you're opening yourself up to his logic as a lawyer."

"Not fair, _not_ fair," Chelsea said, shaking her head. "Whole thing's null and void. You guys _cheated._ "

"Gosh, who was the genius that asked over a nurse and a lawyer?" Daisy asked, a self-deprecating smile on her face.

"Talk about a power couple," Chelsea muttered into her drink.

Claire didn't hear it. She totally didn't hear it, Chelsea had said something else. And if Matt could hear any flickers in her heartbeat (which he _wouldn't_ , because there was nothing to even cause them), he sure as hell better feel the ' _shut it'_ vibes she was sending him.

"Claire, can you come help serve?" Mrs. Escamilla asked, appearing at her side. Claire turned around, agreement on her tongue even as she glanced at Matt. He appeared to be listening to Chelsea, but she noticed the way his head was just barely tilted toward her.

"Uhm, yeah…sure, yeah," she said, flashing a the woman a quick smile.

Matt was a grown ass man that frequently took on mobsters and pimps and crazy people. He could deal with a party by himself. If worse came to worst, she could always patch him up from the mean neighbors and insensitive comments afterword like normal.

"Hey, Matt," Claire said, partially because she felt she needed to and partially because she didn't want to be labeled as 'that one chick that walked away from her charming and actually blind date at a party'. "I'm gonna go serve the food, okay?"

"Yeah, alright," he said, bobbing his head. He touched her elbow and she responded with a quick touch to his side. Claire didn't know why she did it, it just happened and she felt embarrassed but strangely okay.

Claire entered the kitchen to find Mrs. Escamilla, an older woman about Mrs. Escamilla's age, and a woman in her twentysomethings all speaking in Spanish.

" _Ah, Claire, here, you fill up the cups for now,_ " Mrs. Escamilla said, waving at a card table that had been set up in the middle of the kitchen. One half had a bag of plastic cups while the other had an enormous pot of paella.

Claire dutifully filled half the cups with water and the other half with a lemonade from a drink mix (she could feel Matt wrinkling his noise at the smell all the way across the room). The older woman turned out to be Mrs. Escamilla's sister, Angela, while the younger woman was Angela's daughter, Maia. They all talked and laughed in Spanish, mixing gossip and complaints and random observations seamlessly. Claire smiled and took part just enough to be polite, but she was keenly aware that she was the only one in the room not related by blood. And they _really_ didn't need her help. Which meant—

" _Claire, what about that cutie in the suit you have out there?_ " Maia asked, waggling her eyebrows.

 _Dammit,_ she was right. Claire faked an innocent look and asked, " _What about him?_ "

Angela rolled her eyes, hands on her hips. " _Anyone_ that _cute_ has _to have something going on."_

" _Matt's just…here for the paella, really."_ Nope. Nope nope nope she wasn't doing this. A room full of noisy, noisy people and another language was _not_ enough cover for this conversation to _ever_ happen. _Ever._ Especially not when Matt had super hearing and an unfortunate understanding of Spanish.

_"Mm-hm."_

Claire refilled the pitcher of water to avoid looking at the cackling hens behind her. When she turned back around, she realized she could now see Matt speaking with someone in the other room. She narrowed her eyes. She was _so_ onto him.

 _"Really, he's just a poor lawyer that can barely feed himself,"_ she said. Serve him right for listening. She dropped her voice to a stage whisper and said, " _Who knows when he'll eat next."_

" _Well, if that's what it takes to get him in your back corner, do it girl!"_ Mrs. Escamila said, scooping more paella onto a plate.

 _"Honestly. It'd be a violation of the Hippocratic Oath to leave him to his own devices,_ " Claire said with a shrug. Which actually was true.

" _It'd be a violation of my moral code not to leave_ me _to his devices,"_ Maia said, earning shrills of approval from her family. Claire forced a smile.

" _He's a lawyer, cuter than sin,_ manners _, too! Snap that up, Claire, you do it before Angela gets going,_ " Mrs. Escamilla said, waving a spoon at her.

" _I like 'em young!_ " Angela said teasingly, tossing wink at Claire.

" _Oooookay you guys, time to cool it,_ " Claire said, eyes straying back to the doorway. Matt was still speaking to someone, but her suspicion that he was listening was still there, fueled by either mortification or just _knowing_ Matt. " _He can speak Spanish."_

 _"Only makes him that much cuter,"_ Maia told her. " _And he's not even_ here."

Through the doorway, Claire saw Matt smother a smile.

" _Asshole,"_ she breathed, glaring at him. His head twitched toward her, the smile breaking out for a second before he managed to stuff it away.

Some. Times.

Mrs. Escamilla spared Claire from further grief by announcing that the food was ready. People cheered and crowded into the kitchen while Claire dutifully manned the cup station. When Matt came through, thoughtfully guided by Ethan, she was half-tempted to spill a drink on him…but she wasn't about to let her pettiness make her 'the one who spilled a drink on the blind guy', either. He would just _love_ to let that fall back on her.

Claire was shortly ushered out of the way by Mrs. Escamilla's son, who said he had no right eating while a guest worked. She gathered her plate and a cup of lemonade, then shuffled through the crowd to find a safe place to eat.

She saw Matt tucked away in a corner, sitting on one of the few chairs. When she came closer, he made as if to stand up.

"No, you're fine," she said, but he continued trying to stand. " _Matt,_ " she said, putting her hand on his shoulder. "Stop. You're okay."

"Are you sure?" he asked, face tipped up to her with worry. "You really can have the chair."

"Matt, seriously, I can stand. It's a miracle you managed to snag a chair. I'm not going to take it from you."

He sat back down, but stayed on the edge like he was expecting her to change her mind. She leaned against the wall, watching him.

"How're you liking the party?"

"It's…nice," he said.

Claire laughed as he took a bite. "I love that pause. 'It's… _n_ _ice'._ Has it really been that bad?"

"No, just…different. I'm not accustomed to an evening so…comfortable."

Claire scoffed and took a bite of paella. She closed her eyes, momentarily forgetting her mildly amused irritation with Matt. The food was every bit as amazing as it smelled, and absolutely worth the ribbing she had endured in the kitchen. Still, she was in control of herself enough to say, "You need to stay in more."

"I do," he agreed, loading up his fork again.

"We _both_ needed this, though," Claire said after a pause. "I can't remember the last time I went to something like this."

"I can."

"Yeah?"

"I was in college and it was a frat party."

Claire actually snorted into her plate, probably lodging a few grains of rice in her nose. Neatly pressed _Matt Murdock_ amidst red Solo cups, keg stands, and a pervasive man smell? It was a miracle he hadn't exploded the moment he went through the door.

"Yeah, I can tell by your combed hair, nice suit, and lack of stale beer smell that frat parties were _totally_ your scene."

"Foggy said we had to go, at least once."

"And how was that?" Claire asked. The more she heard about the mysterious Foggy, the more she wanted to properly meet him. At least, when he wasn't peppering her with panicky questions as she yet again beat death away from Matt.

"We left a couple minutes before the cops showed up."

"What a random stroke of luck," she said, nearly choking on the amount of sarcasm in her voice. Matt gave her a shit eating grin that said he had _totally_ heard the sirens before everyone else and saved him and his friend from arrest.

"Always good to have someone like me in your back corner," he said, that slick grin still on his face.

" _Don't you dare_ ," she laughed, heat jumping to her face. "That was a _private conversation!_ "

"They were practically yelling," he said with a shrug.

"That's it, I'm not taking you anywhere ever again," she declared. "I'm half-tempted to throw one of these shrimp shells at you."

"No, it'll stain my suit," he said, almost whining as he deflated before her. They both knew he would have to let the shell hit him to maintain his cover.

Claire broke into a laugh at his borderline pathetic expression. She tried to smother it with her hand, but the look was just so out of place on the world-weary brawler that refused holidays and pain medication day after day after day.

She shook her head and hid her laugh behind a hand. He might have been a world-wise brawler, but he didn't look like it. He looked like an adorable and well-dressed man that happened to have come to this party with her.

He looked like someone she could kiss.

Claire kept her hand against her mouth as Matt continued pouting, toying with the idea. It had just popped into her brain, a simple, extremely tempting maybe. It wouldn't be difficult, she could lean down and peck the corner of his mouth and lean away before she drew another breath. He wouldn't stop her, Matt had never been the one to say no to the ambiguous idea of ' _them'_. It had always been 'yes', 'of course', 'if that's what you want', 'you're right, you shouldn't'. He had never been the one to say no.

 _You're right, you shouldn't_. The words had a bit of a sting even now, _weeks_ after they had been said. It was a bad idea to love Matt Murdock. It was _dangerous_ to love Matt Murdock, because he drew lines in places that left him wounded and bleeding. Because the desperate fanaticism that drove him day after day after day was confusing and strange to her. Because he had a brutality that let him push men off rooftops and shatter bones and pull far, far away when he needed to prioritize saving the city over saving himself.

She needed to watch herself, even though he was bleeding less, even though his drive was making more and more sense.

And it wouldn't be right to kiss him. Not like this, not after saying no then maybe then never mind then let's talk about something else. That was in no way fair, and he deserved fair. More than anyone, he deserved fairness.

Claire left her hand by her mouth after the laughter died away. It was a good thing he couldn't see her. He would have caught her whole struggle in a second.

"How do you like the paella?" she asked, praying her voice showed nothing amiss.

"It's delicious," he said with a grin. "A lot of the food I eat is pretty bland, but this…"

"Bland? Are your taste buds that sensitive?"

"Yeah," he said with a shrug. "Well, _bland_ isn't the right word. Normally, I'm eating dinner when I'm tired—" _after spending half the night beating up the worst parts of Hell's Kitchen,_ she amended in her head "—and it's harder to…zone things out after a long day."

Claire blinked, wondering what eating was like for him. 'World on fire', he'd said, sounds and touches and tiny, tiny tastes swirling into a defining inferno. But did that mean _everything_ he did was set alight? Did he chew coals and sip flame to keep himself alive?

"It's not just _taste_ with eating," Matt explained, lowering his voice but not sounding self-conscious. "Every sense I have—every sense _everyone_ has is included. Taste, touch, hearing, smell…it's more involved than people seem to notice."

' _Involved'_ , he said, but Claire could only think ' _intimate'._ Now that she was imagining being able to hear every bite, feel every texture, Claire felt like she had been shown a little too much.

"That's very impressive," she murmured, hyper-aware of the activity around her, the people and smells and cars and animals and planes of the city.

Matt turned his head away like he was just realizing he might have revealed too personal a thing. "It's just…something I'm used to," he said quickly.

 _He thinks I'm pitying him,_ Claire realized, wondering if he could hear her heart break.

"And I find that amazing," she told him. She touched his shoulder, knowing he heard the truth in her words. He didn't say anything, though, just gave her a firm nod.

They left the party a little later, pleasantly tired and full of delicious food and conversation. Matt walked Claire to her door, both of them lingering for a few minutes. Claire could still hear the party upstairs, a sleepier rumble than it had been earlier.

"Goodnight," Claire said, leaning against her door.

"Night," he murmured, swinging his cane absently. He didn't look like he wanted to leave. She didn't want him to leave. Claire had never seen Matt like this, calm and easy going and handing out smiles made of gentle down rather than black cynicism. She had never seen him as _Matt_ with other people. He'd always played the Devil of Hell's Kitchen when others were present.

"I didn't only come for the food," he half-whispered. Claire watched him, recalling what she had said in the kitchen. "The party was nice, but…it wasn't just about the food."

"I know, Matt."

He nodded and squeezed out a quick smile, bid her good night one more time, then quietly _tak tak takked_ his way down the hall. He tossed her another smile before he entered the staircase, and this one said he knew it hadn't been about the food for her, either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How about that season two? Stressful, am I right?


	5. trust and be brave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't you love how good stuff gives Matt and existential crisis?

The welcome home party for Claire's neighbor left Matt feeling…weird. The party was different from basically every other gathering he'd been to in the last few years. The main party-like atmosphere he experienced was Josie's, which was _not_ the same for a variety of reasons. The only other real exception were a few social gatherings while at Landman and Zach, which Matt and Foggy had gone to for strictly networking purposes. The women had counted calories while the men had slammed brandy, and Matt and Foggy usually made their excuses to leave pronto. The party for Mrs. Escamilla's son, though…well, in short, Matt didn't really know what to do with being in a place where everyone was happy, laughing, and at peace. It had been strange but welcome respite, one he felt okay taking because Claire had asked him soft and sweet _._

Which was where things became even weirder _._ Claire had laid down the law _weeks_ ago and he had strictly obeyed it. They were not a ' _they'_. They were Claire and Matt, and sometimes they crossed paths for the sake of the greater good and sometimes they didn't. She had said no to anything else and he respected (and cared for) her too much to disobey. He didn't understand where teasing and paella and enjoying each other's company fit into three a.m. concussions and heavy blood loss.

He couldn't tell if it was just his own selfish desires or an accurate depiction of what was happening, but he was starting to wonder if she wasn't saying no anymore, but rather whispering maybe. After all, Claire had let them drift into territory that wasn't quite the muted flirting nor the hard partnership they had entertained in the past. Their time on the couch and at the party felt different on a fundamental level.

And yet, he had not earned the right to be cared for that way. Not by Claire. And _yet,_ the easy teasing back and forth had felt so light and effortless, a single departure from the wearying march of his life. Things could be so, so _easy_ with Claire. But also complicated, because she was a straightforward person and he was (dysfunctional, toxic, needy, pathetic, a giant forsaken raging disaster) not.

He could rely on her crystal judgement, though. Claire would tell him if she had changed her mind, and since she hadn't raised the subject she obviously hadn't. He had to believe that.

As confused as it made him feel, Matt now had to believe they were simply progressing into normal friend territory. This must have been how Claire treated friends when no crime rings or grievous injuries were involved. A part of Matt hoped this was true, because it showed they could exist without pain lurking above their heads. Another part of him prayed that it _wasn't,_ because the twisted, selfish, sinning part of his soul wanted this friendship to be all his and his alone. Which was shameful, so, _so_ shameful.

But…was it _really_ coveting if she was giving him a maybe?

The very thought made him feel dirty.

He needed to get his head out of his ass and focus on the important things. People faced bigger problems every day. Things were going great for him, all things considered. The worst injury he had was a couple bruised ribs, Claire wanted to be around him for more than a few bloodstained minutes, and Nelson and Murdock was doing well. He could hear Stick's voice in his head, reprimanding him for being weak, for suffering even with the petty creature comforts he so craved.

Which was dumb, which he wasn't doing, which he didn't even believe because Stick was a terrible human being.

Plus, he didn't sulk.

Until he knew exactly where he stood, Matt kept himself inside, off the streets and out of his suit and away from danger. He felt a muted wriggle of pride in his gut, like if he cataloged every moment he made a good decision he could show it to Claire and prove…something. That and the _last_ time he had charged off without having his head on straight, he'd almost been murdered by a ninja.

It took a few days for Matt's uneasy confusion to turn into weary conviction. He was fine with how things were with Claire. This was normal, this was friendship. He believed that. Once he was back out on the rooftops, though, breathing in the city to find someone he could help, Matt could feel a nagging doubt at the back of his mind.

_What would Claire say?_

It didn't matter what Claire would say. She knew what he was doing, he knew she was more or less fine with it.

He stopped a mugging. He made it out clean without a scratch, though the other guy broke his hand. He tracked a drug dealer to his den and eavesdropped for information about the rest of the ring. He would follow up with the asshole's boss, Raphael, next week when he came back into town. He stopped a man from dragging another man into an alley, hurriedly taking off his pants, his victim's breath slurred as he tried to fight his attacker off, but he was drugged and—

It took two solid punches to the ribs and a kick to the stomach for the man to go down. It took five seconds to check the drugged man, his heartbeat picking up at the sight of Daredevil but it was even, he was at least semi-cohere—

A knife tore into his arm— _dammit,_ it was _always_ knives that got him—before Matt slammed his elbow into his attacker's face, breaking his nose. Matt wasn't the kind to kick a person while they were down, but he had no qualms breaking a shithead's collarbone before kicking them in the solar plexus hard enough to drive into the brick wall behind them.

(He knew from experience that specific combo made it virtually impossible to breathe through the panic and pain. That was without the extra creaking break of two lower ribs cracking.)

Matt helped the drugged man out of the alley, then used his phone to call for help before disappearing. He sucked in a breath as he examined the stab wound on his forearm. It wasn't deep enough to require stitches, thankfully, but it was easy enough to take it as a sign to turn in.

He went home and carefully cleaned the wound. He somehow felt guilty for getting injured, knowing that Claire would pick up on the injury the moment she saw him again.

He had been hurt to _help_ someone, though, surely that was reason enough to shed a little of his own blood. Surely that counted as something—him doing something right. Claire would never be _happy_ that Matt or anyone else was getting hurt, but if his reason was good enough wouldn't she still be as proud as if he hadn't gone on the streets at all? Would she be more lenient in their different points of view if she had the shallower emotional investment of friendship?

Matt wrapped his arm and went to bed. He doubted her being his friend instead of...whatever they could have been meant she would accept his behavior. And he doubted he would have wanted her friendship if it meant she cared less.

* * *

It had been a _really_ good day for Matt. His arm still throbbed from the knife wound (he definitely had to talk to Melvin about a more knife-resistant material for his suit), but that was only nee of the normal aches and pains of everyday life. Karen had made a major discovery in a lawsuit over an allegedly doctored will, practically sealing Nelson and Murdock's victory in the case. Foggy had stopped butchering comedic operas around the office, though he was still ardently negotiating his rights to Broadway. Matt had thoroughly enjoyed his lunch of tikka masala, naan, and a mango lassi from his favorite pretentious organic Indian food truck (Foggy's name, not Matt's). Matt's confusion over how things were with Claire was baseless.

Things were fine. Some part of him, deep in his bones or nestled in his gut, would _ache_ if things were wrong, just like it had when she hadn't been in the city. The last time they'd seen each other, she had given him her number. They had laughed and talked and eaten paella like _that_ was the natural order of things. Things were fine with Claire.

Matt sat at his desk, toying with his phone. He needed to not second guess himself every moment of the day, not about this. Friendship with Claire was not everything he wanted, but it was everything he could get. He was allowed to interact with her within those boundaries.

"Call Claire," he said, finally squeezing out the words he'd been agonizing over all day. His stomach jangled as he listened to the dial tone. How would Claire react to her caller ID saying 'Matt' instead of 'Mike'?

"Hello?"

"Hey," he said, trying to force his voice past the sudden lump in his throat.

"How's it going?" she asked.

Matt blinked a couple times, suddenly breathless. He didn't know how to respond when she answered the phone without resigned concern. Matt fumbled for an answer, _praying_ he sounded normal.

"Alright. Things are a little slow in the office. You?"

"Not bad. I've got a little while before my shift starts, so I decided to finally tackle my laundry."

"That stacking up?"

"Not really. Just a few stains and stuff I haven't taken care of. Enter the mighty baking soda and peroxide duo."

Matt broke into a smile, imagining her sitting at the counter, surrounded by stained clothes as she talked to him. He could do this. Calling her without the usual pain-laden pleas for help was too nice for him to mess up.

"What do you do about that stuff?" she asked.

"Hm? What stuff?"

"Stains on your clothes. Can you taste hints of grape juice mixing with your fabric softener and cotton?"

She said it as a joke, so Matt didn't admit that yes, he sometimes could taste the vaguest trace of stains on his clothes. But only before he took a scrub brush to them.

"I can't always detect them, no."

"So what do you do?" she asked, sounding genuinely interested.

"Me? Oh, uhm, well—Foggy usually tells me if there's a stain," Matt told her. He had talked to people about how his life changed with his disability, but never when they knew he wasn't _just_ a blind man. Describing the accommodations he had to make felt odd, when Claire knew better than anyone just how capable he was.

The two sides of his life were merging in ways they hadn't before and Matt didn't know what to think. The last time this had happened it had resulted in a devastating fight and a slow, painful healing process. Now Matt was expecting the hellfire to start raining down. But Claire's tone was butterscotch light so he let himself relax and focus on how much he liked Claire knowing about him.

"For everything?" Claire pressed.

"Yeah."

"Man, this guy is a _keeper_. He supports your night job, tells you when you have stains on your clothes, takes you to questionable frat parties to round out your college life…what more could you want?"

"'Supports' is a stretch," Matt scoffed, even as caution crept into him. It was probably best _not_ to sour the moment by mentioning Foggy's passive hate for Daredevil, as well as remind Claire that she felt the exact same. "Either way, I have all my clothes dry cleaned."

" _Dry cleaned?_ " she asked, like she wasn't sure if she was supposed to believe him. "Like, everything? _Always?_ "

"I do _wash_ my own clothes, but if I get something on my work shirts it's easier to have it cleaned completely."

"You are _such_ a badass," Claire snorted. "Matt Murdock, getting his undershirts and socks dry cleaned."

Matt made a face as she kept laughing, but it quickly morphed into a smile. He liked the warm sunshine of Claire's laugh. He was hearing it more and more lately, and _that_ was a change he was perfectly fine with.

"When's your shift start?" he asked after her laughter died down.

"Seven. I was thinking about catching a movie before work, though."

"Do you have one in mind?"

"Nope. Just gonna go, maybe soak my brain in a chick flick or something."

"You'll have to tell me about it the next time I see you."

"Yeah. Sandra Bullock's hijinks are sure to be the thing you want to hear about when you're bleeding and clambering through my window."

"And if I come through the front door?"

Matt closed his eyes, trying to smother the panic that was shrieking through his stomach. He hadn't thought before he had asked the question, and now it only seemed like a _bad idea_. He could push himself, he could shove himself off buildings and bridges and moving cars before he knew how he was ever going to land, but he should _not_ have tried the same thing with Claire.

Matt grimaced as he waited for her to answer. If she didn't take it well, he could always play it off. His comment could be read as jokey, not flirty, not hopeful, and not so damnably desperate.

"I'd say that's fine, but there's the _blood_ getting everywhere I'm honestly concerned about," she said dryly.

Matt bit his cheek. She hadn't sounded _upset_ , though he couldn't verify her heartbeat over the electronic buzz of the phone. So now he had a choice; play it safe or take a risk.

"If…I showed up like last time?" he pressed, then held his breath.

"Last time? As in _paella_ last time?" Claire's voice was still open, not blocking him off, not saying no. "Yeah, sure. Next time we hang out I'll tell you about my chick flick."

"O-okay, then," he said. Irrational excitement was spreading through his chest and making it hard to speak. Any situation where he and Claire were together without bloody bandages or Neosporin was a good situation.

"So what'd you call for?" Claire asked.

Matt fought to tame his grin before answering. This had turned out so much better than he could have hoped for. He liked speaking to Claire like a normal person, liked _liking_ her the way a normal person would. Normal didn't feel so false when he sat in his office and called her for the sake of talking.

"Just to chat. It's been a while, and I thought that now I have your number…"

"I'm sorry I'm not more exciting, then. As riveting as laundry is…"

"Better than looking for loopholes in copyright laws."

"Loopholes?"

"A guy is claiming that he invented something and is suing a woman for uncanny similarities."

"That sounds...really boring, yeah," Claire laughed. "Well, I'm sure both our days will pick up in a few hours. Me, to work, you off to—oh, dammit, I probably won't get to go to the movie, after all."

"Why's that?" he asked, frowning at the thought of Claire's disrupted plans.

"I've got to find someone to help me move my fridge _._ Completely forgot about that. The guys I already talked to have been a _nightmare_ to deal with."

"Move your fridge? Why?"

"Oh, my lease is up on my apartment soon, so I figured I might as well find a new place. Preferably somewhere with floors that are easy to clean blood off of."

"You have hardwood floors," Matt pointed out. Hopefully arguing nuances would hide the panic crashing over him. She was moving? Where? When had she planned on telling him? The next time he called her in need of some stitches and a shoulder relocation?

This was the same as she had done last time, he realized. She hadn't mentioned she was leaving New York all those weeks ago until the moment before she actually left.

 _She's just moving to a new apartment, not leaving the city_ , Matt told himself, trying to wrestle his anxiety into submission. She wasn't leaving him. Claire of all people was _not_ going to leave him.

Not for real.

" _Yeah,_ but the place came furnished and your blood got all over the rug. And everything else," Claire countered, oblivious to the panic in Matt's head.

" _Right,_ " he scoffed, because he could play pretend when he had to. "When are you moving out? Sometime soon?"

"Mm, not for the next week and a half. I've been packing in my down time for the last couple of weeks. You didn't notice half my stuff in boxes last week?"

"No, I was focusing on something else." Claire something else. Claire wide awake and happy to see him at night and smelling not of disappointment and pain but of something dark and mouth-watering and sweet.

"Mm-kay. Well, that's the state of affairs in Claire World. Unless you're interested in the saga of my neighbor discovering that he's dating a furry…?"

"Absolutely," Matt said. He smiled into the phone, letting Claire's voice fill his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Matt needs a spa day from his own brain.


	6. so nice to come home to

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is basically my favorite chapter so far. If you go back to my roots, this is it. This kind of self-indulging, fluffy, pseudo-domestic nonsense is all I am at my core.

Claire had really, _really_ enjoyed the peace between her and Matt. Things had been stressful since she had come back. An ungainly tension had hung in the air anytime they saw each other because they were morally opposed about something huge. But her leap of faith to invite him for paella had been rewarded. She had proven, to herself if no one else, that they could exist together without pain being part of the equation.

It felt like a new door had been opened in her understanding of Matt Murdock, revealing someone quiet and mischievous and kind. She liked that side of him, a lot. Enough to reconsider her staunch policy of platonic aid, if just for a second (or maybe something closer to two).

Whatever had happened at the party clearly wasn't about to be undone, either. After she and Matt had had a totally normal phone conversation, Claire had received a knock on her door later that day. The two hefty guys waiting on the other side initially scared the crap out of her (Russians breaking in and kidnapping her wasn't something she was about to forget), but then they had explained that a Mr. Murdock had sent them to help her with the fridge, and they just needed to know the specifics of when they had to come move it for her. Claire had tried to explain that there might have been some mistake, but they insisted, saying that they owed Mr. Murdock one, since he had helped them avoid prison, and all.

Claire decided to go with it and not look this gift horse too closely in the mouth.

But, of course, the peace couldn't last. Eventually the name 'Mike' showed up on her caller ID, which was a little less surprising than she would have liked. To be fair, though, he had the decency to call in the middle of the morning, and he (allegedly) wasn't bleeding. She had yet to decide if this was better or worse than the usual two a.m. calls.

Matt had apologized multiple times for needing her to go all the way to his apartment, but apparently something was wrong with his leg and he couldn't do more than hobble. Claire had rolled her eyes and quickly said, no, no, she had to head his direction anyway, it was fine. Deflection and denial always seemed to work best when Matt got that needlessly apologetic tone in his voice. Also, she was too tired to deal with any self-deprecating crap today.

Claire knocked on his door, waiting as he called " _Just a sec!"_ She hid her smile behind a hand as she heard Matt's ungainly galumphing to the door. She could do this. She could tend to him without breaking into exhausted giggles.

"Claire, hi. Thanks for coming," Matt said, tossing her a grateful smile.

He looked alright. There were no new bruises on his face, and his split lip seemed mostly healed. And he didn't seem to be nursing anything other than his leg. Claire mentally let out a sigh of relief.

"Yeah, no problem," she said, stepping inside.

"Sorry again for making you come all the way out here," he said, limping back to his seat at the table. "But my leg…I got pegged in the calf last night and it still hurts. I just wanted to make sure nothing was wrong with it."

"I'm assuming that since it's after eight on a week day and you're in sweats, you're not going into work?" she asked, leaning beside him at the table. "Finally letting yourself rest before you die of exhaustion or blood loss?"

"Not quite," he laughed. "I'll go in late. What do you think the diagnosis is?"

"My guess? Getting kicked in the leg."

Matt pursed his lips just enough to make his dimples show ( _damn,_ did she love his frustration dimples), then leaned over to ease up his pant leg. Claire crouched down to examine his calf. There was a surly bruise, but nothing seemed permanent.

"Did you apply the arnica to it?"

"Yeah, last night and then this morning."

"Good, that'll help. I think you're safe to walk on it, but at least _try_ to stay off it." She rolled down the leg of his sweats and rocked back on her heels. "Anything else?"

"Nothing new."

" _That's_ a relief." She straightened, then resumed leaning against the table. He looked tired without his glasses. Claire yawned in sympathy at the thought, pressing her hand against her mouth.

"Did I wake you up when I called? You sounded tired when you answered," he noted with a frown.

"Mm? Oh, no, I just got off my shift. I can't wait to get back to my friend's place."

"You're not staying in your apartment?" he asked, tilting his head. "Is this the transition period between places?"

"No _._ Well, kind of? It's a long story _,_ " she sighed. "I've been having a run around with my landlord. _Apparently,_ the new place has a bug problem and they need to fumigate before I moved in. Which was several days ago. Which they're barely getting around to now."

Claire very much appreciated it when Matt completely ignored mentioning the help he'd arranged for her refrigerator, and instead wrinkled his nose.

"That's going to linger for ages."

"Sorry, but pest control is higher on my list than your poor delicate nose."

"So does your friend live down here?" Matt asked, easing himself out of his chair.

"Yeah. I'm staying with her until it's all clear. Her and her noisy, noisy neighbors."

"Is it bad?"

"They have a newborn. And a yappy dog."

Matt huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. He more than anyone had an intimate knowledge of obnoxious neighbors. "Here, keep talking, I need to go to my room real quick."

"I mean, normally I'm okay," Claire continued. She sat on the edge of the table as he made his way to the bedroom, his hand brushing ever so slightly against the furniture as he placed himself in the room. "But my sleep schedule's all out of whack because I've been picking up graveyard shifts, and the baby's not helping."

"When do you move in?" Matt asked, voice slightly muffled.

"Not until day after next, at the very least. I think I might give it an extra day so I'm not choking on fumes."

"Sounds fun."

"Abso-ab-absolutely," she said, stammering through another yawn.

"You know," Matt began, reappearing from his bedroom. He had somehow managed to change into his work clothes and was already buttoning up his shirt. "If you'd like to take a nap here, that's fine."

"You'd make your home a nap station until Wednesday?" Claire asked, making her voice disbelieving, even though she knew that yes, yes he would.

"Maybe not until _Wednesday,_ but for today, yeah. I'll be at work, so it'll just be normal New York noises," he told her. He seemed casual as could be, offering her his bed as he did his tie and smoothed down his collar.

"Just sirens, cars, and construction every second of the day," she said, earning a wry smile from Matt.

"Seriously, stay here if you'd like."

Claire watched him, weighing her options. The law abiding citizen in her said no, she should politely decline his offer of silk sheets and down blankets and return home. The exhausted nurse that had just come off a graveyard shift said yes, yes, _hell_ yes, she would take his deliciously comfortable bed and not wake up until he came home that night. And there was the excellent point that he didn't have a colicky baby upstairs.

"And you're sure?" Claire asked, giving him one more chance to say no.

Matt grinned as he slipped on his shoes, knowing he'd already won the battle. "Completely. The bed is yours."

"Okay," she said slowly. "Okay, thanks."

"Not at all. It's the least I can do after all you've done for me."

 _"Actually,_ the least you can do is take it _easy,_ " Claire corrected, standing up to see him off.

He shrugged into his suit jacket and reached for his cane. Claire reached up to smooth a bit of his hair that was sticking out of place. She moved without thinking, her filter dulled by bone deep tiredness. When common sense caught up her stomach flipped, panicking that maybe she had gone too far, that she had invaded his space in too familiar a way.

"Thanks," he said, flashing her a smile that said she was safe (and that maybe he had heard her heart beat a little faster). He stowed away his keys, phone, and wallet, then said, "You're welcome to anything in the fridge, you know where the spare blankets are, and if you need anything else…I'm a phone call away."

"Alright," she chuckled. "Now go on and save the world."

"One court case at a time," he agreed. Matt's smile was a soft butterfly kiss of a thing that she loved. Claire smiled back, wondering if he could feel the action in the tiny shifts of the air, hear the miniscule sounds of her lips moving up.

She could kiss him goodbye, Claire realized. Just like the last time she had seen him off to work, after the Russians and before their fight, she could bid him farewell with a soft kiss. Only this time it wouldn't taste of copper and suffering. It would be so easy, leaning across less than a foot. He would stay still, he would let her hold him back and run her hands through his hair—

Matt opened the door, cast her another goodbye smile, then left.

What the hell was wrong with her? She was _way_ too tired to be thinking if she let herself be carried off on some stupid, frankly _dangerous_ fantasy, for the second time in two meetings no less. She needed to calm down and go to sleep.

Claire clapped her hands to her face, telling herself to snap out of it. She toed off her shoes and lined them up neatly by the door, then focused on the seductive call of Matt's bed. She half skipped to his room, drew the blinds, then flopped onto the covers.

As Claire shimmied under a spare blanket, she wasn't sure which was better—the smooth touch of Matt's sheets or instantly being enveloped in his scent.

* * *

Karen was surprised and concerned when he appeared in the doorway, her voice sounding the alarm for Foggy to appear from his office.

"Oh, Matt, are you alright? Should you be in the office?"

"I'm not dying, Karen," Matt said, wondering what the hell Foggy had told her was wrong with him.

"Yeah, but you're sick, you should take it easy! I mean, case or not, you need to let yourself rest."

Ignoring the eerie repetition of Claire's mantra, Matt set his cane against the wall and shot a look toward Karen's warm lily smell. "It's actually _two_ cases, believe it or not. And…sick?"

"Uh, yeah," Foggy cut in. "I mean, you were _puking_ last night."

Matt was thankful they couldn't see him rolling his eyes behind his glasses. When did he _ever_ get sick?

"Well, I just needed to rest a little bit. I'm fine now."

"Well…okay," Karen mumbled, not the least bit convinced. Matt imagined she was sharing a look with Foggy, but since Matt didn't show evidence of having bled in the last twenty-four hours, Foggy left it alone.

"Alright, Mr. Peak of Health, in that case I'm expecting you to work your ass off on the Himmerman case."

"Always do," Matt said, going into his office.

He spent the rest of the morning trying to ignore the squiggles in his stomach caused by the idea of Claire sleeping in his apartment. It hadn't been this bad the last time it had happened. Last time, they had actually kissed and opened up the path to a beautiful maybe, and yet he hadn't lost his head _then_. He needed to get work done.

And looking forward to going home to find her scent on his sheets was just wrong.

Matt purposefully worked through his normal lunch hour to make up for lost time, and also not to rush back home and spook Claire. A part of him wanted to voice his conflict with her to Karen or Foggy, but Matt was in no way rested enough to pick a brand new fight. Not only was he uncertain if Karen's crush on him had abated, but he also didn't know how to explain 'Hottie McBurner Phone'/'The Nurse Friend'/Claire to Foggy. And, if he was being honest, he still liked having Claire to himself.

As Matt tried to work, his horrendous sleep schedule caught up with him. He normally could operate on a less than recommended amount of sleep and be just fine, but his leg had kept him up most of the night. By the time he caved and decided to go home, it was after two and the world was swimming around him. Well…more gently rocking back and forth. He tried to force himself to stay awake and power through, but the appeal of both his bed and traces of Claire lingering in his apartment weakened his resolve.

He hurried home and decided to forgo the stairs in favor of the elevator. He leaned against the wall of the elevator car, half fantasizing about the blessed comfort of his bed by the time he reached his floor.

Matt opened his door, and damn him if he didn't inhale a little deeper, searching for Claire's dark, delicious smell. It was strong, stronger than he'd expected, and for a moment Matt let himself just breathe it in. Then he noticed the soft _thump-thump_ of a heartbeat and the whisper kiss of someone's breath stirring the air.

Claire was still in his apartment.

He moved cautiously to his room, surprised to find her still curled up in his bed. He leaned against the doorway, a slight smile on his face. Which promptly turned to a frown as he realized he'd have to sleep on the couch. It was comfortable enough, but leather was kind of a letdown after the promise of silk.

Matt sighed and walked over to the bed. His hands skimmed over the bed as he tried to extricate a pillow and blanket from under Claire (was she _really_ sprawled over his entire bed?) without waking her. After an awkward moment, though, he heaved a sigh and dropped his hands to his sides. He'd have to go without.

Claire woke with a sharp breath, propping herself upright with the shushing shift of silk sheets. Matt froze.

" _Matt_?" she asked, voice muddled as she tried to process everything around her.

"It's alright, Claire, go back to sleep." Those words tasted so _good_ on his tongue, flavored by the tiny, sweet taste of unearned pride at having been allowed to say them.

"What're you—"

"I was trying to get a blanket. It's fine, I don't need it. Go back to sleep."

Claire groaned and rubbed at her face, a clumsy motion that sounded more like a smack. "Just—just lay down."

"What? No, I didn't mean to disturb you. I'll go to the couch."

"Lay down, Matt. Finally treat yourself nice before I get annoyed." The words were muffled, like she barely had the will to move her lips while she spoke.

Matt deliberated for a moment, then eased down beside her. He felt out how much space he was allowed to have, inch by inch. Claire had rolled onto her side, giving him a generous half of the bed. He lay stiff, then forced himself to relax.

Normally, when Matt wanted to sleep he had to close his senses off one by one. He built a little wall between him and the smells and the tastes and the touches and then finally the sounds of the world. It was just a matter of casting himself out to sea until his brain could go to sleep. But now he didn't think he _could_ turn them off; every sense was tuned to Claire.

Claire. He felt engulfed by her, with her scent on his pillows and her heartbeat in his ears. His tired brain stuttered through a few circuits of thought ( _Claire is in my bed. Claire is not in my bed in that way. Does it matter as long as she's there? Claire is in my bed.)_ before he lost the energy. Matt drifted into a sort of trance, soothed by her red fruity presence and the enticing movement of her pulse on her neck, the creases of her elbows, her wrists. If he ever needed help falling asleep, if the inferno around him ever became too much, he could cast aside counting sheep and go straight to keeping time with the _thump-thump_ of her heart.

Claire mumbled something and rolled over. Her hand fell on his chest, a dull thud that jarred him out of his doze. Matt sucked in a breath of surprise, then let it out again. Her hand was still on his chest. He picked it up, carefully, carefully, afraid of waking her.

Her hand was well cared for, the skin smooth with short, even nails. Capable hands, healer's hands. Heavenly hands.

Matt hesitated, turning his attention back to Claire. She was still asleep, her breath and pulse moving slow. He waited a moment, suddenly nervous. Matt swallowed, then pressed her knuckles against his lips. If this was the last kiss he was ever allowed to have with her, stolen or not, allowed or not, decent or not, he would take it.

He lay there in the quiet, feeling nothing, hearing nothing, sensing nothing but the woman lying beside him. He pulled off his glasses and set them on the nightstand, then rolled onto his side to face her. His hand was still over hers, soaking up that tiny point of body heat.

Matt woke up when Claire eased off the bed, mumbling something about needing to get groceries before work started. Even though his heart tightened at the thought of her leaving, he was at least glad he was awake to see her go.

He felt awkward and hopeful as he stood in his living room, waiting for her to walk out the door. There was no kiss on the forehead, no frank notice that she couldn't do this. No blood, no stitches, no pain.

"See you later," she said, gathering her bag. "And thanks for the pit stop."

"Not at all. Happy to return the favor."

Claire laughed and nodded. "Yeah, maybe sometime we'll make a habit of seeing each other for reasons _other_ than fixing each other up."

"I'd like that."

They were quiet for a moment and Matt found himself holding his breath. He wished he had some way to know if she was okay with this, if she was smiling or frowning or pressing back a grimace at his words.

It had felt so _perfect_ lying beside her, feeling nothing but gauzy peace where he normally felt a forest fire. It felt perfect, but in a tantalizing, needy, intangible sort of way. He had known it wouldn't last as he had held her hand and longed for that moment to freeze. And standing there now, waiting for Claire to leave him yet again, Matt realized that he couldn't keep holding his breath for the next little moment. He craved every little thing he could get with Claire, but was that reasonable for him to even want? It had been _months_ and he still had no evidence that they could ever try being something more.

He wanted Claire, he wanted her so bad that it sometimes made his soul ache. Sleeping beside her now only made him realize that more acutely than ever. But he was also beginning to realize that he couldn't slog through life coveting her half-formed affection. The gift of her friendship was probably more than he deserved, all things considered, but demanding more, _begging_ for more on his hands and knees even as he built an escape in case the repercussions were too serious…

Claire deserved better than that. She didn't need to be constantly deciphering his hopeful double entendre every time they met, not when she so plainly said the way things were now would never work. She had made good on her side of the deal and not left him for good. It was time he follow through on his end and finally obey the rules he had sworn to keep. He needed to steel himself and sacrifice his own greed for the sake of their normal, heartbreakingly platonic friendship.

"Yeah, maybe," she said.

If he could have tasted the chocolate kiss of her smile, he knew it would have been bittersweet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I, too, really love Matt's frustration dimples.


	7. brave for trying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUYS THIS IS IT THIS IS IT IT TOOK US SIX CHAPTERS TO GET HERE BUT HERE WE ARE INDEED.
> 
>  
> 
> _MATT AND CLAIRE DEALING WITH SOME OF THEIR PROBLEMS._

"You did _not_ sleep in his apartment," Nikki, Claire's friend from college, said in appalled delight. She may have come from very traditional Indian parents, but she was best described as 'thug'. " _Damn,_ girl."

"I did. It was a very chill, please-sleep-before-you-go-ape-and-murder-someone-over-artichokes-at-the-store sort of thing," Claire told her. She squinted as they stepped out of the shade of an awning and started walking down the street.

Claire took a dignified sip of Coke and ignored the fact that Matt's generous offer most likely stemmed from his romantic interest in her, rather than a compulsion to be a good Samaritan. This type of flirting (if it even _was_ flirting; sometimes it was so subtle Claire had a tough time telling which was which) was different from the cheeky, show-offy sort he had done when they were first getting to know each other. It was a quieter sort, a little more humble in its approach. Matt stayed firmly on his side of the relationship line, but he was making a point to show he was still interested, if she ever wanted to try again.

Claire also neglected to mention that both she and Matt had ended up sleeping together on his bed. Nikki wouldn't understand the utilitarian nuance of them forgoing social convention for practicality because they'd both been exhausted and out of it (plus even half-conscious Claire couldn't handle Matt denying himself comfort).

Nikki had been apprised of a version of Claire's misadventures with Matt since she had left for Miami. Nikki had driven Claire to the airport and had been intrigued when Claire had grumble-mentioned Matt under her breath. Claire had caved after a week of Nikki's nagging, deciding that it couldn't hurt to have someone to confine in/rant to about Matt, even if they didn't know all the details. She had been appropriately scandalized and eager for the details of the strange relationship Claire had been harboring for the last few months. Nikki was now under the impression that Matt Murdock was an emergency-room-prone blind man with a love of philosophers, justice, and bothering the hell out of Claire.

It was more or less the exact truth.

" _Mm-hm,_ " Nikki said, shooting her a look from under the visor of her snapback. She took a long pull from her smoothie, keeping up the expression. "Attractive ER man doesn't seem to do 'chill' very well."

Claire snorted out a laugh and shook her head. If only Nikki knew. "Yeah, well, I slept on the couch, so calm down."

White lies were okay lies if they served the greater good. And also kept Nikki from hounding her for no good reason.

" _Yeah,_ well, no. I will not calm down. He let you sleep in his _house._ "

"I know, I was there. It was a _friendly gesture._ "

"Lemme stop you right there," Nikki said. Claire gave her a look as they waited for a cab to pass, then crossed the road. "I've been listening to this saga for a few weeks now, and yeah, it's fun, but it's come to my attention that we need to review."

"Alright, let's review," Claire said with an eye roll.

"This guy is in your life and it's not as a friend or a patient."

"But we _are_ friends."

"Child, listen to me. You see him _all_ the _time._ He's still got a thing for you, which you kinda sorta return when you feel like it. You asked him to a party with you. You slept on his couch. This _could_ be just friend behavior, but it is not. Not with you two. Deny it. Deny it!"

Claire took another drink from her soda.

"I _thought_ so. I never woulda pegged you as the type to be playin' boys, but here we are."

"What—I'm not _playing boys._ And it's not even ' _boys'_ plural, it's _'boy'_ singular." Claire knew for a fact she would have keeled over dead if there were more than one Matt in her life. "And I'm not playing him."

"Okay, yeah, but _no._ You've been playing hard to get with absolutely zero plans of giving him a li'l somethin' somethin' for his efforts."

"I'm not playing hard to get. I'm not even playing! We didn't work out, end of that story. He's attractive and a good man, but…"

Claire heaved a sigh. She hated thinking about this. It ran through her head at least once a month, and every time it did she felt like crawling into bed and never getting up. Which was at least part of the reason why she didn't let herself get more involved with Matt. They had _barely_ managed to leave the fall out from their last fight behind them. The last thing she wanted was having to deal with months of emotional carnage every time they fought. Which would be often, since Matt was the very definition of 'bull headed' (and she wasn't much better).

"I have no idea how it'd turn out. There's…a lot of stuff going on there."

Nikki, to her credit, didn't push to find out just what stuff was going on. "But you said he _likes_ you! Still! This is not let-it-lie material!"

"Well, we've been doing great so far."

It wasn't the most comfortable thing Claire had done so far, but she and Matt were making things work. She was just his friend that sewed him up and stopped him from bleeding out every other week. That sometimes might have flirted with him (only a little bit) after saying 'they' were not an option. That had pointedly thought about kissing him on two separate occasions after marking that as out of bounds.

Claire sucked in a breath. Okay, sue her, she wasn't perfect. She still had a heap of residual feelings she didn't know what to do with. That was fine. Anyone would feel the same.

Nikki continued on, oblivious to Claire's thoughts. "I'm disinclined to believe you are 'doing great so far', even though you are Claire Temple, Miss Do Right Be Good, Give and Take No Nonsense. You like seeing his puppy dog eyes too much for that. You only mention him once a week."

"One, that's _not_ the case. Two, _please_. Boy is exhausting," Claire said. Self-righteousness felt a _lot_ better than doubt.

 _"_ Mm-hm, peddle somewhere else. You _liiiiiike him,_ stop tarting around and go for it! Everything you've told me says he's got some _heat_ and I know you can take it."

"How about _no thanks._ You're getting caught up on the wrong thing. He's literally a walking headache, remember?"

Nikki heaved a very vocal huff and stared up at the clouds. "I _know,_ human shaped mess, I remember. But _Claire—"_

"Nikki, seriously, listen to me. It looks great on paper, I know, but there is _a lot_ involving him that doesn't even _fit_ on the paper. I don't need that sort of stress in my life. I'm not messing around with him."

"So what're you going to do with him liking you? And your own jumbled up rustlings for him?"

"Try my damnedest not to do anything with them."

"That's effed up."

"Yeah, it is," Claire sighed, then took a long drink of Coke.

Maybe Matt's status as a human mess was contagious. Maybe all of this had started to happen because Claire came back and she was now losing her hold on a functional life.

Nikki was quiet for a moment, then looked at Claire. Her expression had shifted from teasing to sincere.

"But Claire…in all seriousness, it feels a bit like you're using him. You're setting all of the expectations of this relationship, and _that_ is not healthy."

"I'm not _using_ him," she said, even as Nikki's words finally sank in. "I just…I'm not. I don't know. We just kind of…dance around each other. He doesn't _want_ boundaries on anything, so of course I'm the one…it's not really the same if—it's not _on purpose._ "

She scowled at the sidewalk. Her interactions with Matt since coming back from Miami played in her head. It hadn't _felt_ like playing with Matt's heart. It felt like picking her way through a mine field.

But then there were the little things that made her pause. Between the times they had been arguing and laughing and talking and acting like normal people, Matt had behaved in a way that was a little more cautious than she might have expected. Him lingering after Mrs. Escamilla's party like he was hoping against hope she would ask him to stay, his nervous relief when they spoke on the phone, the tense way he had settled into the bed beside her, like he had to force each muscle to relax with her right there.

Everything was him testing the ground, easing his way through just as she had. He might have been trying to find a balance between friendship and his own feelings, just as she had. And yet, if Claire thought about it, _really_ thought about it, it felt like Matt was always waiting to see if what he was doing was okay by Claire's standards. Which had not been the most consistent, if she was being honest.

Shit. She had been toying with him.

Nikki gave an understanding sigh.

"Look, I'm not trying to condemn you here," Nikki said, waving her cup around and nearly hitting a passerby in the face. "We all have those relationships where we do weird, morally questionable crap and it's not on purpose. For you, it's taking some power back and having this guy beg for the pleasure of your company on his hands and knees. I get it, strong guys doing the weak thing is hot, you don't have to explain yourself."

"That is _not_ it," Claire said.

She looked away, trying to block Matt's vulnerable, _please Claire please_ face from her mind, and not because she found it attractive like Nikki thought. The context involved too much blood and her leaving him with all of his problems for it to _ever_ be anything but tragic. When faced with all that, Claire almost _wished_ Matt was actually hoping and pleading _that_ she would go to dinner with him. What kind of messed up shit was _that?_

"I don't wanna get burned again, y'know? This city is barely back on its feet. _I'm_ barely back on my feet. I'm too tired for the uncertainty of a relationship with him."

Nikki held out her hand and made Claire stop. "Okay _no._ Look at me in my winged eyeliner-ed eyes. You are a woman with an opinion on everything. What's uncertain?"

"Him…coming home beat to shit every night." Him with righteous damnation in unseeing eyes. Him flashing from wounded and apologetic and repentant and self-loathing to wrathful and self-righteous and brutal and single minded in one day. Him casting aside all self-worth and preservation for the sake of purifying a city through holy fire. Him shoving her away because she made him mad or she argued with him or things became too damn difficult for the both of them.

"You're a _nurse_ ," Nikki said flatly.

"Which makes it harder! I want to _heal_ him, not patch him up so he can run back out there and get hurt even worse!"

"Alright, that's a fair point. What else?"

"I don't know what he…"

But Claire found she couldn't finish that sentence. She _did_ know what Matt wanted. She knew what he wanted for the city and what he wanted from her. If she gave her permission, if she gave her support…he would treat her like a queen. But she also knew he'd follow his compulsion to absolve sins with black eyes and broken bones until he was physically unable. The ugly darkness in Matt that let him torture gangsters on rooftops and hiss hard words at her in his apartment would not disappear without a fight. No, Matt's behavior was not at all in question.

It was Claire herself that made her uncertain. She had no idea how she would handle wading into all of that and attempting to help him fix it. All she knew was that she had taken one good look at the ugly inside of Matt and backed up _fast._

"What do you want, Claire?" Nikki asked as they turned a corner. "What can Mr. Do Good do for you?"

"A lot," Claire sighed. "But he can do a lot against me, too. I don't know where to draw the new lines. I don't know what I'm okay with."

"Well…maybe you shouldn't _have_ to draw lines. At least, not by yourself. I think you better figure out just what it is you want before he gets unhappy and gives up."

Claire gave a noncommittal _hmph,_ but she noticed how the first thought in her head was ' _oh please no.'_ She kept walking with Nikki, trying to ignore the way her insides had clenched up at the thought of losing Matt.

Hell, she needed to sleep.

* * *

It had taken Claire a couple of days to follow Nikki's advice, mostly because she had _no idea_ where to start. Every time she thought about Matt, Claire wanted to lie down and cry. Things were so damn _complicated._ She couldn't be expected to do this. She couldn't tussle out answers and details by herself. And bringing it up with Matt scared the hell out of her, because once she did, once she said the words out loud, they could never come back. If Claire posed the possibility of them becoming real, she could never snatch the thought back. It would be there for forever, staining everything with hopeful or tragic possibility.

Finally, Claire decided that she literally _could not_ wrestle all of the answers out herself. She couldn't thrash out the details of something so huge and complicated like her and Matt. Things had to be taken apart, one piece at a time. So she sat down and started making lists. It made her feel like a high schooler, but Claire _liked_ lists. They told her everything she already knew without the fuss of having to nail down barely tangible ideas. They could be executed with relative ease, they laid out a neat battle plan. Everything from cleaning her apartment to dealing with Matt Freaking Murdock could be put on a list.

She wrote down the two big things she knew. First was that if she wanted to remain just friends with him, she needed to commit to it and stop trying to steal little moments of something else. Second, she _did_ want something more with him, but the only way to get it was to figure it out with him. Which was where the problems were, since Matt was possibly the _least_ reliable person she knew when it came to objective decisions.

So that led her to another list. Pros and cons of being with Matt Murdock. Pros: he was kind, compassionate, brave, attractive, noble, determined. Cons: he was almost self-sacrificial in his methods, zealous once he committed to something (often a dangerous or bad something), had the devil's temper, didn't share details, expected everything or nothing from a relationship Claire imagined to be built on give and take…

(Turned out Claire had been wrong earlier. They were a damn _mess_ on paper.)

Claire tapped her pencil on the pad of paper, thinking. She knew all this, had been tussling with it for months. So now she was left to decide if she was willing to put in the energy to try? Claire had seen more than her fair share of drama already, she wasn't excited to add more.

But maybe that was her problem. Maybe she was just setting them up to fail if she only viewed a relationship with Matt to be blood and drama interspersed with fleeting moments of happiness.

Claire pushed herself up from the table. She could map everything down in a list, expect for Matt's response. She honestly couldn't even pretend to know what that man's reaction would be. That meant, according to her first list, Claire either had to go ask him or walk away.

Sometimes, Claire hated how she painted herself into a corner using her own damn logic.

She knocked on Matt's door the next afternoon, heart almost pounding out of her chest. She waited five agonizing seconds, then raised her hand to knock again. She heard movement from behind the door, though, then it swung open.

"Claire," Matt said, eyebrows raised in surprise. He was still wearing a suit, which caught her by surprise— _does he work on Sundays…?—_ but then she remembered.

Mass. He had probably gone to mass. Great, now she had not only disrupted his Sunday, but she _also_ felt bad for being a failed Catholic.

"Uhm…yeah. Yes. I hope I'm not bothering you, I just…there was something I wanted to talk to you about."

Could she _be_ any more awkward?

Matt was still frowning, but he stepped back to let her in. "Yeah, sure. I'm guessing it's not serious?"

"No…kinda, maybe? We'll see."

Matt trailed her down the hall. An old record player was cranking out a slightly scratched version of 'Take the A Train' next to the wall. Claire felt uncomfortable without her med kit with her. She didn't know how to be around Matt without antiseptic and rubber gloves on hand.

Claire took a few moments to anchor herself while Matt switched off the record player, then turned to her. His expression had gone from confused to concerned.

"Claire…are you okay? Has something happened?"

"Nothing big. No gangbangers staking out my house or anything."

Matt forced a smile to show his relief, but he still didn't seem relaxed. His glasses made him look so reserved, so distant. She wanted to take the stupid things off so she could see his whole face. Matt may not have been able to see with his eyes, but he _used_ them so much. He couldn't hide a thing with a face that expressive.

"I was…I've been thinking…okay, I'm just going to cut to it, because this is probably painful for the both of us. I was thinking about what you said last time we saw each other. And I agreed. I think it's a good idea to see each other because we want to," she told him.

Matt's expression lightened so much in one little second that it nearly broke Claire's heart. Hope and disbelief and excitement all crowded in, bright and wonderful. She forced herself to keep going, though, because this was the most integral part, this was what all of her wondering and waiting and list making had come down to.

"But—but, Matt, I'm _scared._ "

Matt's face was slow to fall, much slower than that lightning flash of joy. Soon, though, he had closed himself off from her completely. Claire didn't let herself linger on how much that hurt.

"I don't know what to expect from us, but I'd like to find out. I'd…if you want to, I'd be…I'd like to date you."

It all felt so awkward and clunky in her mouth, it was actually amazing Matt wasn't flinching from sheer sympathy. He didn't move, though, just kept giving the floor a frown. She wished he would go back to disbelief. Claire chewed on her anxieties for a moment before he spoke.

"You…want there to be an _us,_ " he said.

"Yes."

Matt nodded, then walked past her to the table. Claire swallowed back her disappointment and horror. Ideally, he would have been just as excited as before, saying yes, _yes,_ of course he wanted this. His face was still closed off, though, hiding his thoughts from her.

Nikki had called it. She could only wait so long before Matt grew tired of being jerked around.

Claire sucked in a breath and said, "Did you…uhm, have you moved on or something? Am I too late?" She tried to smile as she spoke, but it actually hurt to do. She glanced down, hating the thought that Matt could hear every tight swallow, every tense breath.

Matt tipped his face up, considering. It was still clouded over. She stiffened as he shook his head.

"No, I haven't moved on. Not like you're thinking."

Claire chewed back her urge to ask ' _then what's the problem?'_  Matt would say what he wanted. He always did. It just took time.

"What about your reservations?" he asked. "I don't want you to love someone so close to becoming what they hate."

"You're right, you shouldn't."

It was almost funny, the two of them retracing their argument from the opposite side. Neither one of them had dared to address the fight since she had come back, as though it might bring their disagreement flaring back to life and leaving them even worse than when they started. But now, even though they recited the words by heart, it didn't hold any anger or pain.

Matt turned back to her. He wasn't doing much to hide the conflict on his face. He wanted this, he always had. But he wasn't letting himself have it. Why? Why was that?

"What changed?" he asked her. "Why are we suddenly an option on the table?"

"I don't know," she admitted.

Why was he fighting this all of a sudden? Claire had seen his longing every time they met, why was he holding back now?

"It just _feels_ different. I guess…I had time to think. We… _I_ wasn't in a war zone in Miami, so I had time to really think, give myself a fresh start when I got back. And you not…the way you handled Fisk told me a lot."

His face tightened at Fisk's name, but he didn't interrupt her.

"I was scared you might decide the methods justified the actions, and then you wouldn't be better than those you fought, you'd only have a different reason. But you showed that wasn't an issue, or at least, it was one you could handle. And…and your new suit helps, too. You're not getting hurt as much, so that's good, the city's seeing what you want to do, and I…it was wrong for me to have been stringing you along before I was ready to make a decision. I wanted the satisfaction of being with you without the obligation, and that was really shitty of me. I'm sorry."

"You make it sound like you're a black widow or something," he laughed, but it felt forced. He picked at his cuffs, trying to find the words he wanted to say.

Claire bit the inside of her cheek. She kept playing back her speech in her head, frantic that she had said too much and yet not enough. Claire had never imagined she would have to convince Matt that this would be okay, she had arrogantly thought she could just walk in and ask for whatever she wanted. After all, he'd given her everything she wanted so far (except for his safety and his accepting her advice, but that was an issue for another day).

"I don't think—I appreciate you trying to see differences in me, but Claire, I don't think—I haven't changed. You'd still be walking into a relationship with the same guy as before, and I don't want that for you."

"I'm not saying you're a different person, just that the things I was worried about…you proved they weren't a problem."

Claire stared at him, trying to decipher where this had come from. She took a few steps closer, hands raised slightly like he was a caged animal and she might need to defend herself. Matt was clutching the back of the chair behind him, like he needed something to keep him from bolting.

Matt turned his face away and dragged in a breath. "I don't want you to be hurt when…if that's not true."

Claire shook her head. "I don't think it will be."

He huffed out another sigh and pressed a hand to his brow. When he spoke, it was a whisper. "I don't want _either_ of us to be hurt."

Claire sucked in a breath. She hadn't thought about Matt being hurt. Not after they committed to a relationship and decided to be happy. He tolerated physical agony seemingly every day. Emotional pain had never entered into the equation.

Which was stupid. When she looked back, his fear of getting hurt was everywhere. The hesitant questions that felt out the area before he took a step, the way he always built back doors into conversations, the traces of fear on his face when he explained how he saw a world on fire, the desperate attempt to cover up any vulnerability when he asked how long she would stay away from the city, stay away from him.

Claire nodded, trying to buy herself time to find the words. She opened her mouth and Matt raised his head a little.

"What changed?" she asked, staring at him. "Did I…did I do something to make you not want this anymore?"

Matt didn't say anything for a while, instead holding his hands together. It looked like he was pleading. Or praying.

Claire sighed and took a leap. She walked toward the table and sat beside Matt. She pretended not to notice him stiffen as he faced her.

"Come on, Matt, I'm not going anywhere. Talk to me."

He let go of the chair and pressed his fingertips onto the table. Even though he was standing above her, he appeared small as he hunched in against himself.

"I…still like you, Claire. But…what if it doesn't work? I can't—I don't wanna lose you because I mess up."

She looked down, a lump forming in her throat. This was too sad. Claire didn't speak out of pity, though, didn't pack on reassurances he didn't want. She put her hand over his, bruised and neglected as it was.

"Please sit, Matt," she said softly.

He hesitated, then eased into a chair. He put his hand back in its previous place, like he was quietly asking her to hold it again.

"I…can't promise that won't happen," Claire said. His shoulders were so tense, drawn up against what she might say. "Last time…there was a lot I didn't know. I _still_ don't know a lot, but I know more than I did."

"And you think this is okay?" he asked. Matt shook his head. She wanted to snatch those damn glasses off once and for all, like they were the barrier that kept them from being happy. "Claire—nothing's _changed._ I'm still getting hurt and hurting and I _won't_ stop, I _can't_ stop. You know that, more than anyone. I can't give you what you want, and it would be irresponsible of me if said I could. I'm sorry for letting you think this was okay."

Claire dragged in an unsteady breath. He had a point. They hadn't changed. Two and a half months or so didn't leave a lot of room for character revolution. But it certainly did for revelation.

She folded her arms, resisting the urge to grab his shoulders and make him face her. Even if he couldn't see her, she needed to know he was taking this head on.

"What do you want, Matt?"

"I told you what I want."

"And I told you want _I_ want. So why are we not happy?"

He gave a black chuckle and turned back to her. "Because happiness is never that easy."

Claire watched him, heart thumping hard in her ears. She had never seen this sort of defeat on Matt's face. Exhaustion, pain, anger, unhappiness, yes, all of those things, but never defeat. That _scared_ her. Maybe it was because she was opening up her soul to him, genuinely exposing some soft, delicate part of her, but Claire was terrified of the thought of Matt giving up before they even started. If she committed to this and he _didn't_ think they could move on beyond what they were now, Claire knew she would be throwing all of her time and energy and happiness away. She knew what unbalanced relationships looked like, and she had dealt with enough crap already.

For a second she found herself yet again backtracking, reconsidering her declaration. Her protests to Nikki were resurfacing, pointing out that Matt Murdock was _not_ just the charming man people saw on the surface. Even though Claire was strong and capable and a million other things, she _refused_ to be responsible for fixing every part of the man before her.

But like Nikki had said, Claire _wouldn't_ be. Not if she didn't let herself. And she wanted to love Matt, she wanted to love him without that ever-present stab of pain in her chest. There had to be some way to do that without micromanaging every damn thing about them or running away. Claire knew she would explode before she could get a handle on all of the problems she and Matt had combined, and she had tried running away already. Which just threw another brick of shame onto the pile.

What did that say about Claire? She was fine with loving a super powered vigilante that could destroy a man with his hands, but not someone who thought they weren't good enough to be loved? She was willing to help a man _torture_ someone, but not address his own problems? She was okay being with Matt as long as the issues that had been _very apparent_ from the beginning didn't crop up and affect her?

 _No,_ she was not that person. Hell yeah, this was scary, but she was _not_ someone that cold.

"I don't believe that," Claire said, injecting every bit of stubborn faith she could muster into her voice. "I _refuse_ to believe we have to give up _us_ because—because it might be hard and it might hurt. I'm sorry for leaving you last time, I was wrong for jumping ship rather than working it out. But I'm telling you now, Matt, that I won't run again. I want to really try. We can take it slow, hell, that's probably what we _should_ do anyway, but I am determined to make this work."

Matt shifted, picking at one of his pockets. He seemed jittery and small, so very different from the swaggery, hellacious, impossible man she was used to dealing with.

"I don't understand why…you'd _want_ this. You're not the problem, Claire, please, I don't want you to think you are. But every time I'm around you it seems like I'm bleeding or causing a problem. These past few months, I keep trying to _take_ something that I'm not supposed to have and I just—it's not fair to make you—why would you _want_ someone like that? Why would you want someone who does something you _hate_?"

"I don't hate what you do. And the times you're _not_ bleeding have been really nice."

Matt worked his jaw, a grimace flinching out for the barest moment. She knew he could hear her pulse speeding up, but she stayed quiet. He was edgy, despising the fact that he had just poured so many of his fears into her lap.

Claire hated knowing that was how Matt saw himself: a raging mess that could never do anything right. And yet she was horribly, horribly unsurprised. It kind of made sense, really.

She took a slow breath, giving them both a minute. She didn't want to make the mistake of last time, where she had let herself feel hope just before he shot her down and walked away.

But the two moments were very similar, she realized. Matt's face had closed off when she had said she couldn't love someone so damnably close to siding with the devil. He hadn't lashed out when she asked him to change, only when she had brought herself into the equation. Just when she thought he was listening and that she could pull him back, she had stumbled onto the very thing that changed the issue from being about Matt's soul to Claire's well-being.

The thought was so twisted and illogical and _Matt_ that she wanted to cry.

"I don't wanna mess this up," he said again, this time more of a confession than a warning.

"I know. But I can't promise I won't, either. We have no way of knowing for sure. We just have to try, and Matt, I'm asking you to try with me."

He flashed her a quick, anxious smile. Exhaustion was carved in every one of his features. Claire reached out and brushed his cheek with her knuckles. On impulse, Matt turned his head and pressed his mouth against her palm. Her stomach flipped as he kept her hand in place with his, eyebrows barely pulling together out of longing and more than a little fear.

Claire broke into a wide smile, tears pricking her eyes as the tenderness of the gesture seeped up her arm and into her chest.

 _God help Matthew Murdock,_ she found herself praying. _He looks so afraid._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know we all hound Matt a lot because of his issues, but I think it's very important for us to recognize that Claire isn't this shining saint, either. She has her own baggage and problems, even though we don't see them in the show. They both need to address what's going on and work through it together if they ever want to make this work, which is part of the reason why it's taken so long for them to become an actual thing in this story. I love fluff and cuddles as much as the next man, but I love them even more when they've been earned :)


	8. in love and terrified

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you thought Matt and Claire were done Dealing With Things in the last chapter, you were wrooooooooooooong.

Matt made himself take a deep breath. His heart had thrilled when Claire said the words ' _I'd like to date you_ '. Everything he had been silently confessing, everything he'd been hinting at and dancing around for months was suddenly _okay._ But something still felt wrong, like the final, devastating caveat had yet to be delivered. He had wanted this for months, but that wasn't the decent, reasonable part of him. That was entirely the craven, despicable part that ignored reason and boundaries and the all-important rule about lust.

What was he _doing_? He couldn't let this happen. He was a _mess_ , he hurt everyone he started to care for. Why had he pushed Claire so hard that she was willing to give in? He shouldn't have encouraged her, this was all his fault. Matt had been right when he told her not to love him, when he had pruned back her affection for her own sake. But his pathetic selfishness had gotten the best of him and he gone crawling back for more.

He kept hearing Stick's voice in his head, telling him to cut people off, to remove attachments from his life. And, in a twisted way, Matt finally understood the man's logic. If he kept people back, he might save them from himself.

But Claire wasn't asking to be saved from him. She had seen the ugliness in his soul, had called him out on it and refused to be associated with it until he got it under control. And now she claimed that he had somehow managed the hellfire in his blood, that the danger she saw was not so imminent. Which made _no sense._ He didn't feel like he was managing anything. He was scrambling like he always did, desperate and daring as he tried to temper his desires with the things he should not have. Only problem was, Matt didn't know which category Claire fell into.

He felt dazed, fumbling for protests that Claire refused to accept. He wanted this, he wanted this so bad he could barely breathe. But he also could not let himself hurt her. Not again.

"I don't want to mess this up," he repeated, a terrified confession that she accepted with flawless grace.

"I know," she told him. "But I can't promise I won't, either. We have no way of knowing for sure. We just have to try, and, Matt, I'm asking you to try with me."

He sucked in a breath. This was probably a mistake. Somehow, he had tricked her, made it _seem_ like he was a capable human being. Eventually, it would all come tumbling down.

And what if it didn't?

Claire reached down and let her knuckles brush his cheek. He moved on reflex, body craving her touch before his mind could pull it back. He kissed her palm, indulging himself with _her._ The smell of her dark, fruity lotion was heavy in his nose, the vague taste of salt teasing his tongue, the steady, lulling rhythm of her pulse against his skin.

He had always considered Claire's advice to be his golden standard, the thing that would garner the best results if he actually listened to it. She would never let them wander into something that left them battered and bleeding. It was one thing to doubt himself, but Claire... She hadn't led him astray yet.

Matt didn't understand why this was allowed. He hadn't earned something so precious, but if it was being offered after _everything..._

It was hard to breathe, much less think, when she traced the edge of his cheekbone with her thumb. He loved her so _much._ Certainly enough to let her go when she needed. Maybe enough to trust her when she said yes.

Claire pulled her hand from his face and set her elbows on the table. "Here, hold on. We should clarify something before we go any further."

"Like what?" he whispered. His voice caught in his throat, making the words sound low and ragged.

"I want this— _need_ this to be as clear as possible," she said, pulse skittering a little faster as she spoke. "I think we could be really happy together, but I _also_ think we could both royally screw this up if we don't deal with stuff and establish some rules. So…where do we start? As a relationship, where do we begin?"

"I think a date is a good place," he joked.

He felt off balance after this confirmation or approval or blessing or _whatever_ it was that had just happened. He needed time to reorient himself, find level ground and steady himself. Claire snorted and shook her head. He had a feeling she was buying him time.

"Yeah, sure, but I'm talking…what _kind_ of date, Matt? Where are we right now? Are we in the uncertain beginning phase, are we boyfriend and girlfriend, do we introduce each other to our friends? What are _we_?"

Matt let out a slow breath. There were so many possibilities, most of which he hadn't even realized existed. He had never imagined their relationship to move beyond the physical confines of their respective apartments, had barely imagined their relationship moving beyond _anything_ (which was a lie. Sort of. Kind of. Not really, if he stomped on any questionable thoughts before they really got their feet under them). But going out together, being a real, tangible, _breakable_ thing in the eyes of other people, that was terrifying (and absolutely thrilling).

And...for the first time since their argument about the Russians, Claire was trusting his faulty judgment and allowing him to decide. He couldn't ruin this.

"I don't know if where we are right now has a label," he told her. It was amazing how _calm_ he sounded, how reasonable. "I don't want to change anything just because it might look weird to someone else. But I also don't want to stay what we have been. I just want—"

Her. He wanted Claire. And now he had her, so what did that leave?

"I want to date you like a normal person," he confessed. "I want us to be _us_ without all of the blood and bandages."

Claire smiled, a big smile that took over her whole body, changing her heartbeat and making her breath slide out in one happy go. "That sounds really great."

Matt smiled back at her, flooded with relief that he had said the right thing.

"But where does that leave us?" Claire insisted. "Do we just jump in, or…what?"

"I don't really want to wait."

Claire laughed again, each one sounding a little more relieved than the last. The tension that had walked in with her was dissolving bit by bit, easing out of her shoulders with every word.

"So, uhm, what else?" he asked.

Claire considered, leg bouncing as she thought. After a moment, she said, "I want to know more about you. Right now, I know more about your wounds than your life."

"What do you want to know?"

"I don't _know_ , Matt!" she exclaimed, throwing her hands up and laughing. He raised his eyebrows, a smile slipping onto his face. It was like the reality of the situation was finally sinking into them, the warranted excitement just now registering inside them.

A fresh start. They were granting themselves a fresh start, a chance to be together without the uncertainty and suffering of before. It didn't feel real. Matt didn't _get_ fresh starts, he just kept moving forward until there was enough distance between him and his last mistake to make people forget.

Claire kept talking, her words starting slow and then rushing as she went. "I'm not completely clueless about you, but there's a _lot_ I don't have figured out. And it's not just something a game of twenty questions can fix, it's something that's going to take time. But I want to know _something._ Something real that doesn't involve masks and court cases. But don't rush into anything if you're not comfortable! I want you to feel safe giving me answers."

Matt's breath caught. _I want you to feel safe giving me answers._ He had never thought of it that way. Matt had kept the details of his life secret to keep _Claire_ safe, his own well-being had never factored into it. But he could feel there was at least _some_ truth to her words, if his constricting insides were any indicator.

"Are you nervous?" she asked.

Matt took a few moments to answer before giving a nod. He would have gone with 'panicked as hell', but he guessed 'nervous' worked as well.

"Me too," Claire whispered. "And excited. But only a little."

Matt smiled at her, hope once again fluttering around his stomach. But he didn't allow himself to trade pragmatism for hope. If Stick could see him now, trying to fumble his way through a personal relationship like it was a legal document…Matt could hear his dry, blunt criticism.

 _Shit, kid, can't even fail being alone right. Maybe I was wrong, maybe you're too wishy washy to be of any use. Pick a side and_ stay _with it._

"Okay, wait," he said, trying to smother his panic. He raised his hands like he could catch whatever she was going to say and hold it until he was ready. "This _…_ is not something we can sort out with one conversation."

"Yeah, absolutely. This is...more like a baseline for us, y'know? I want to know the basics about Matt Murdock, but the big stuff…yeah, normally that comes over a long period of time."

"So...let's make ground rules."

"Okay," Claire said, sitting a little straighter. "Let's say two rules each for the moment, and we'll work from there. So hit me. What's your first rule?"

Matt clenched his teeth and dragged in a breath. He had _really_ been hoping she would take the lead on this. He was perhaps the _last_ person to start defining ideal relationships.

What rules could he _make,_ though? Claire was capable and willing to give him seemingly whatever he needed, maybe even what he wanted. What rules did he have to implement?

(He heard the staccato _'don't leave me don't leave me don't leave me_ ' in his head, but he ignored that.)

"Uhm…no fast food."

"What?" Claire laughed. She leaned back in her chair, making it creak. "You get first pick and you say ' _no fast food'?_ "

"It's a pet peeve," he said, breaking into a deprecating smile but committing himself to his choice. He hoped Claire was too taken with the quirkiness of the request to wonder why he had dodged something more substantial. "It just… _clings_ to everything. The smell lingers, the grease settles into clothes, and I can practically _taste_ it hours after I've been around it."

"So what counts as fast food?"

"McDonalds, KFC, stuff like that."

"Okay, so not hole in the wall, mom 'n pop shop, right? Food trucks are good?"

"They're good," he agreed.

"Alright, I can do that. Hm, now let's see…" She hummed as she thought, which Matt found a little suspicious. There was no way she had walked in there without a list of his flaws that spanned the block.

"Tell me…when something's wrong."

"What?" He furrowed his eyebrows and tilted his head. That couldn't have been it. It was too easy.

"It doesn't matter what it is. I want you to tell me when something bothers you, when something's not right, when you're hurt. I can't do the 'better if you don't know' crap. I am literally not made for it."

"I think we passed that a few Russians ago."

"Yeah," she scoffed, but it sounded emptier than normal. So that was still a tender spot, despite her brave face. He felt a sting of guilt, both for having caused the trauma in the first place and for having reminded her of it. "But not just _Daredevil_ stuff. Even if you can't right at that second, I want you to tell me if something's bothering you personally. You've gotta let me in with stuff like that."

Matt swallowed, then nodded. That was not nearly as easy as he was hoping it would be. But he would do it as best he could. She deserved that.

"Tell me…" He broke off and took a deep breath, one that stretched his lungs and throat and ribs before he let it out. It was too needy to be said out loud. But Claire had asked him to be honest with her, so surely he would get a pass for that? It wasn't greedy or selfish or perverse, and she said she was willing to give.

That didn't stop the derisive laughter in his head as he heard Stick mocking him, calling him a baby, embarrassing, pathetic. Even Elektra's cool remarks rang out, little jibes at how he needed too much for his own good. Hell, when did he _not_ take too much from the people around him? Matt knew he grabbed up far more than his fair share, but the thought of _not_ doing that, of letting himself ruin everything before he was even remotely satisfied…

"What is it, Matt?" Claire asked. Her voice was level and open, prompting him out of genuine curiosity. He clenched his toes, knowing that if he grit his teeth or balled his hands into fists Claire would notice.

If he asked for too much, Claire would tell him. She would continue to be his voice of reason, correcting him from the wrong path. She would work with him. He prayed she would work with him.

"Tell me if this…is too much," he said. He held his breath, then reached out to hold her hand.

The apartment was deafening in her few seconds of silence. Claire didn't move, either to take his hand or pull away. She just sat there, slowly processing what he was asking for. Her heartbeat was steady, breathing was the same, posture unchanged so things _should_ have been fine, her body would have said otherwi—

"This…" She licked her lips, buying time. "Is this a tactile thing?"

He blinked at her. His brain spun as it tried to squeeze some meaning out of her question Tactile? Wasn't everything involving touch _tactile?_ But she wouldn't waste such a careful question on something so obvious, so why…?

"Like…is this a seeing with your hands thing?" she continued, and now Matt heard the edge of strain that came with her trying to walk a safe line. "Is it to ground yourself, is it…I don't know. What are you asking for?"

He stayed still, fighting to find a response and not squeeze her hand even tighter.

"I just want…to touch you," he confessed. The words felt wrong in his mouth, clunky and bordering on perverse as he fought for an explanation. "But I don't want to be overbearing or—or anything. Just tell me if it's okay to do this when we're together, or if I ever cross a line and things become too much."

Claire was quiet again. His pulse climbed as she thought, worry and fear struggling with the relief and hope she had just fanned into his chest. What conclusions was she drawing about him? What answers were produced to her own questions?

"Okay," she said. "I'll tell you if it's too much."

Matt was frozen for a moment, confused and a little disappointed. He had expected more, condemnation, maybe, or possibly affirmation that it was okay. But she laced her fingers through his, promising to return to the subject another day.

"And for my last rule, we have to stay in contact," Claire told him.

"Contact? What do you mean?"

"No more of this phone tag, only-show-up-when-life-is-in-danger crap. That _sucks._ I want consistent info from you," she said. Claire pounded the table lightly with their joined hands for emphasis.

"Does it matter how? Phone calls, face-to-face conversations…?"

_Going out for dinner, laying together on the couch…?_

"I dunno, whatever works in the moment. But you keep me _informed._ Tell me about insurance fraud or whatever as well as the drug rings."

"And you'll tell me about things like getting a new apartment?"

Matt heard Claire open her mouth in surprise. He waited, determined to get an answer. If she could ask for information, then he could, too. That was within their boundaries, however ambiguous.

Claire let out a tiny breath, something caught between a sigh and an ' _oh'._ And then she spoke, her smile honey and sunshine on his ears.

"Yeah. I'll tell you about things like getting a new apartment."

He smiled back at her, heart suddenly going too fast. He felt like he had passed a test, or maybe she had. Either way, giddiness was crashing over him. This was happening. This was real between them. This was _them._

Claire ran a thumb over his knuckles, sighing again. "I need to get home. I just wanted to come over and talk before I lost my nerve. There's still some unpacking I need to do, clear the last of the boxes before I have to go in to work tomorrow."

She pushed back her chair and stood. Matt turned his face up to her, somehow helpless and yearning even after she had just promised him more than he could have even dreamed of. He knew better, but Matt still felt the pang of worry that maybe this was an illusion, that it would all slip through his fingers the moment she walked out of the door.

"Do you need any help? With heavy lifting or anything?" Matt asked, easing out of his chair.

"Nah, right now it's just my personal knickknacks and junk that needs a home. Thank you, though."

They stood together for a moment, both unsure what to do. He wanted her to stay, _oh_ , how he wanted her to stay. But this was part of loving her openly, whatever that meant. Matt still had to let her go. They were together, but she wasn't his to keep stored away from the world.

Claire leaned toward him and kissed the corner of his mouth. He was slow to respond, surprise dulling his reflexes. Matt managed to catch the edge of her mouth, the briefest feather touch full of Claire smell and Claire touch and even a little Claire taste. It was a miracle he didn't grab her waist just to keep her there, a breath away, not moving or needing or giving anything.

"I'll see you later," she whispered, and God forgive him, but he reveled in the secret of the words.

"Yeah," he said, hand tracing the underside of her forearm. "I'll see you later."

He felt Claire's smile once again split the air, the murmur of a half born laugh on her lips. He could still feel it linger after she had left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to make Claire's struggle with this to be very clear, but I want Matt's to be, as well. He is so confused and conflicted about everything, and I wanted to show that it goes so much farther than just him and Claire.


	9. nothing more precious

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look there is just a lot in this chapter that I just adore and in like two seconds you're gonna find out why.

The next week was absolute bliss. Matt had only met with Claire once or twice over his lunch break, but the knowledge that he was _allowed_ to see her whenever he wanted filled his chest with light. They were free to continue on however they chose. Each tiny kiss and minute brush of the hand was a pleasure after he had had to weigh and calculate and risk each one. And maybe it was because he was still reveling in the novelty of it, but Matt didn't feel the old anxiety about the different areas of his life mixing. It felt so natural, so obvious for Claire to click into his daily life.

Most of their interactions so far had been on the phone. They called after Matt got off work sometimes, or occasionally when things were slow at the office. Claire was his lovely little respite, the secret ingredient that managed to brighten his whole day. Although, she was a little less secret than he had imagined. After a week and a half, Karen popped her head into his office.

"I'm _really_ sorry about this," she half-whispered. "I totally thought he knew."

"Knew what?" Matt asked, blankly raking through his brain to think of something that he and Karen knew but Foggy didn't.

"He's going to bring it up any second now, so just…prepare yourself," Karen continued, then disappeared with a _clack clack_ of her heels.

Matt wondered what the hell had just happened before going back to work. A few minutes later, though, Foggy stopped in his doorway. Then Karen got up and joined him. Matt tried to ignore their obvious lurking, but after a few solid minutes of silent staring, he addressed them.

"Are you going to say something?" he prompted, not bothering to face them.

" _Matt_ ," Foggy said dramatically. "Something's been off with you. For a while now. Don't think we haven't noticed."

"Ex…cuse me?"

"You're chipper, you engage in small talk more, and—there! There it is! There's that _thing_ that keeps showing up on your face!"

"We think it's called a _smile_ ," Karen said, fighting so hard to be serious. So much for her being apologetic.

Matt let out a huff, forcing the smile from his face. "Can you guys just tell me what you're here for?"

" _Here_ for?" Foggy demanded, sounding genuinely indignant. "Details, Matt, details! We want the dirty, disgusting details!"

"Maybe _not_ so dirty," Karen corrected.

Matt allowed the smile to return as he gave them his full attention. He liked that they were back to this. Sometimes it was easy to forget how tenuous things had been in the office, even after Fisk had been put away. Most days, they were a quirky but entirely functional legal team. Even though Foggy's voice sometimes fell flat defending Matt's lies, Karen sometimes smelled like a bottle of Jack, and Matt was lucky if he could take two steps without aching, things were getting better. They were all healing.

"This might go faster if you told me what it is you want details about."

"You! Person you've been phone flirting with! How! Why have we not been told!"

Claire. This was _not_ how Matt had pictured broaching the subject.

"Y'know, maybe a bit of subtlety might have been best here, Foggy," Karen said. She was trying to sound reproving, but this was clearly _far_ too amusing to her. Well, if nothing else could be said for the situation, at least Matt didn't have to worry about her having a crush on him anymore.

"Subtle! With him skulking about with his _clandestine phone calls_ and—and— _secret girlfriends?_ _I_ must engage in subtlety when there is nothing but misdirection and betrayal on his end?!" Foggy demanded. He whirled to face Karen, arms in full gesticulation mode.

"' _Subtle'_ doesn't mean _'betrayal',_ Foggy," Karen pointed out. "I mean, he was being _private_ and probably didn't want to advertise."

"So how did _you_ know, Miss Smarty Skirts?"

"I just noticed. I'd look over and he didn't _look_ like he was calling a client when he's on the phone, and he's been kinda chipper. Ergo—"

" _Ergo_ , why don't we let the accused himself speak?"

"No, no, I'm enjoying Karen being my legal representation," Matt said. "Keep going, you're doing great."

"Okay, seriously though bud," Foggy said, his voice swinging back to Matt's direction, "when did this happen? I turn away for two seconds and suddenly you have a secret lady I know nothing about? You and your sneaky phone calls, probably ducking out to see her at lunch—you're basically a grizzled film noir lead! Why don't we just call you the Maltese Falcon and have done with it?"

"The Maltese Falcon wasn't even Humphrey Boggart in that movie," Matt said, standing up from his desk. He edged past Foggy and Karen to walk to their broom closet of a breakroom. They both followed him, Foggy to continue the debate and Karen to watch. "It was a statue."

"Shut up, you know what I mean. You're Humphrey Boggart in this black and white film!"

"Foggy…no."

"Karen, take this down," Foggy said, gesturing vaguely at her. Matt shook his head as he heated water (with an electric kettle he had packed into the office and _not_ the microwave, as it made everything taste like plastic and half a decade of cheap food). "Matt Murdock is bitter and wounded inside, probably has a drinking problem, and attracts ladies because they feel sorry for his excessive amounts of angsty grit."

"Foggy, stop," Matt told him, searching for the tea bags. "We got noise complaints last week, please."

"It's true," Karen chimed in. "Accountants upstairs were very upset."

"You're supposed to be taking notes! And don't take his side!" he blustered, handing Matt the hidden box of tea. Karen continued her amused needling of Foggy as they waited for Matt's water to heat.

"I mean, if you _were_ to choose the Maltese Falcon, that would mean you die in the first six minutes."

"What?" Foggy spluttered. "No I—holy crap you're right. You see what level of distraction you've driven me to, Murdock? I framed us in a story where I die! Lamely! Spare me by telling me _who_ —"

"It's Claire," he said, pouring the hot water into his mug.

"—this woman of mys—hold up, _Claire?"_

"Claire?" Karen repeated. "Is this someone I should know?"

"Huh? Uh…no, no, not someone you should— _nurse_ Claire? 'She seems _nice_ ' Claire?"

"Yeah, that one."

"Oh," Foggy said. Then, " _Oh._ "

"'Oh' _what,_ you guys?" Karen insisted.

"Matt, uh, he…"

"She helped me when I had my accident," Matt said. He listened to Karen, praying she wouldn't renew her campaign to find out just what his 'car accident' entailed. Hopefully it didn't matter now that Fisk was behind bars.

The air shifted slightly as she turned to look at Foggy, gesturing in silent conversation.

"So…when you could barely _walk…_ you were flirting with your _nurse_?" Karen asked.

Matt almost choked on his tea. That was _exactly_ what had happened. He wasn't ready to say that out loud, though. He wasn't ready to say much about the topic, actually.

"It's really nothing so dramatic as Foggy's making it," he said once he had recovered.

Matt weathered their questions until Foggy's phone rang and he had to leave Matt's office. Matt pointedly returned to the court notes he had been reading, even though he could smell her fresh honeysuckle smell hovering in the doorway. Her interest in the subject had ignited once she realized Matt's responses were less to rile Foggy up (though there was certainly some of that going on) and more flat out evasions. After a few moments of him pointedly ignoring her, though, she slunk back to her desk.

That was _not_ the end of it. Foggy let the issue go, though Matt wasn't sure if it was because he was satisfied knowing who Claire actually was or because he was skittish over anything Daredevil-related. Karen was a completely different story. Matt had learned from the the Fisk ordeal that she was more than a little tenacious, but he hadn't guessed how _devious_ she could be.

She didn't mention it the next day, or the next. A week passed, and Matt let himself believe she had decided to let him bring it up. She hadn't. She had been gathering evidence.

"So," she said, striking up small talk as she poured herself a cup of coffee, "how's Claire?"

_Oh hell, not this again._

"She's good," Matt acknowledged. He focused on the tea kettle, willing it to heat faster. He needed to stop making tea in the office. Their breakroom was literally a conversational kill box. Every time he stepped in there he was priming himself to be sniped with a conversation he didn't want to have.

"Yeah?"

"Yep."

"Oh, okay."

Matt poured the water into his cup before it boiled and gave up on adding sugar altogether.

"I just thought you'd been calling her a lot this week. I wasn't eavesdropping, I promise," she clarified, throwing her hands up defensively. "It's just…you get this goofy smile when on the telephone, sometimes."

"It's just a refreshing change from Foggy's jokes," Matt said. "Nothing more."

He didn't miss the way she had conveniently planted herself in front of the door. He wasn't about to rush her head on, but he _also_ wasn't above passive aggressively invading her space and forcing his way past.

Karen let him squeeze out of the breakroom and the conversation. A couple days later, she tried again as Matt came back from Foggy's office.

"So the other day, when you said you were just calling Claire for conversation, did you mean you two aren't…?"

"No, we're not having some scandalous affair like Foggy was making it sound," he said, earning a muffled protest from Foggy's office.

"Ah _-huh._ So that's the official statement? What about off the record?" she asked. He could just imagine her leaning forward in her desk, tracking his every word and movement. The woman was _relentless._

" _Everything's_ on the record in an office," Matt said, trying to blind her with an especially charming smile. Karen hopped up and followed him into his door.

Matt didn't even know why he was trying so hard to cover up the fact that he and Claire were together. He was delighted by their relationship, even if it entailed little more than the occasional meal together and a quick kiss hello and good-bye (possibly because he was still a little paranoid about ruining things and she insisted on them taking their time). He just was cagey when other people tried to force answers out of him. Too long hiding secrets, perhaps.

"So you're on the record saying you don't want to go on the record and say you _are_ phone flirting with Wonder Nurse?" she asked as he slid into his chair.

"Yes."

"That's basically saying you _are,_ though!" Karen exclaimed. She gave a little stomp of exasperation that made a cute _tak!_ with her heels.

"It's the exact opposite, though."

"You're impossible!"

"Okay."

Karen groaned and clomped back to her desk. Matt breathed a sigh of relief. Avoidance tactics were a tad harder without Foggy distracting himself with his own antics.

Matt skimmed the details of a new fraud case, mind barely making sense of the bumps under his fingertips. Karen had been right. He _had_ called Claire for the majority of that week's lunch breaks. And he had had breakfast with her over the weekend. Still, they hadn't even broached the subject of meeting each other's friends. Other people hadn't really factored into their relationship. Other people typically _didn't_ factor into his relationships, though that may have been because he _wasn't_ the pinnacle of healthy dating habits, as Foggy was quick to attest.

Was he comfortable not introducing Claire to the rest of his day life because they had met while he was being Daredevil, or had that been his preference from the beginning?

"Hey Matt?"

"Yeah, Karen?"

"When are you going to move from secret flirty phone calls to actually taking her out to dinner?"

"Our schedules don't really line up for us to have dinner," he said absently. "Where did you put my copy of the Fallow case?"

Matt froze, realizing what he had just told her.

_Dammit all to hell._

Karen didn't say anything for a moment, but he knew she was zeroing in on him. She got up and walked to his door, just as casual as could be. He could _feel_ the triumph rolling off her. Dammit dammit _dammit._

"Your schedules don't match up for dinner?"

"Karen, the Fallow case, where is it?" he asked. He couldn't shake her now, but he could at least pretend for pride's sake.

"Right here," she said, smugly plucking the folder from a shelf and dropping it into his hand.

Matt heard her swagger back to her desk, satisfied with her work. He hoped she was at least satisfied enough to leave him alone for a few days.

* * *

Claire couldn't help but raise an eyebrow as Matt finished recounting his story of Karen's mental terrorism. His secretary featured less often in conversation than the infamous Foggy, but she was proving to be quite the kick in the pants.

"So your secretary used guerilla conversational tactics to find out about us?

"That's not how I described it," Matt mumbled, taking a sullen bite out of his free range organic hippie gyro.

Claire rolled her eyes. She bumped his side as they walked down the street, the wind kicking up at their backs.

Despite the mild terror both of them had felt as they sounded out the ground rules of their relationship, things were flawless. It had been only a couple weeks since they had become official and most of their interaction had been limited to phone conversations or the occasional lunch, but Claire loved every second of it.

Just as she had expected, the good moments with Matt were wonderful. He had pulled back from the scared self-deprecation and the aggressive bloodstained flirting she had seen before. Now it was like their brief moment of sweet kisses and handmade breakfast as he tried to wash away the nightmare of Russians and baseball bats. Only, it lasted more than a handful of minutes. Claire knew that it couldn't be sunshine and honey for forever, but she was more than ready to stock pile these moments until something bad happened.

Claire adjusted her hat as she guided Matt to a bench. It wasn't _quite_ cold enough for snow, but Claire expected it any day, and she was _not_ about to be caught off guard (that had happened in college. Fool her once, weather, fool her once.). Matt was decked out in a sleek overcoat and thick scarf, though he hadn't splurged on a hat or gloves. Claire was still toying with the idea of using him as her personal weatherman, balancing the pros of his super senses against the cons of his bias over handling discomfort.

Matt was quiet as they settled on the bench. He mulled over his thoughts, expression turning somber as he ate his gyro. Claire made herself eat her sausage rather than pester him with questions.

Claire had sworn to herself post-relationship sit down that she would invest as much as she could to their relationship. No more half measures, no more dancing around what could or couldn't be. She would listen and wait and see what Matt needed, and then try to act accordingly. Which sometimes kind of sucked, because Matt had the habit of shutting down any time someone pressured him into doing things. So she kept her mouth shut and let Matt come to this on his own time.

"You mentioned before—when we were laying out the rules—you mentioned…meeting each other's friends?" he said, voice hesitant.

"Yeah," Claire prompted. Normally, Matt was fine distinguishing nonverbal cues in conversation, but Claire had noticed that serious topics always required a verbal response. Matt wasn't a person that knew how to do things by halves, including self-doubt. He needed the confirmation that she was listening and invested in what he said.

"And Karen mentioned it, too. So…is that something you want? Is that okay?"

Every time he suggested something new, Matt always gained an uncertain edge in his face. It was like he was double checking his judgment against hers, yet again testing the ground before committing.

"That sounds good," she said, leaning into his side.

Matt relaxed ever so slightly. Claire bit down on her distaste, stowing the conversation about whatever the hell made Matt so hesitant for another day.

"How soon are you thinking about introducing each other?" she asked.

"I don't think there's much point in waiting," he told her, a little more decisive now that he knew he was on the right path. "You've both heard a lot about each other already."

"I don't even _know_ how to bring you up," Claire sighed. She scrolled through her list of friends. She liked them, obviously, but introducing them to Matt made her stomach tighten.

"Blind lawyer a bit much?"

"No," she said, trying to envision Nikki's smugness at formally meeting Claire's wounded puppy dog. " _They're_ a bit much."

"We'll play it by ear, then," he said, reciting the watch word of their relationship. "But I'd like you to meet Foggy and Karen soon."

"Formally or casually?"

"Casual," he said grimly. "I'm not ready for a whole outing's worth of Foggy's comments."

"Yeah, I guess our introduction was less than stellar," Claire sighed. She ate the last bit of her sausage as she considered. In the ambiguous future she had cast for herself, meeting Matt's business partner and best friend skipped over the undoubtable awkwardness and shot straight into charming amiability. But now this was real and she had to think of it in real world exchanges. Which meant some stifled conversation as they both tried to figure out how the hell they felt about their role in Matt being Matt.

"I think you'll like Karen, though," Matt mused. "She's sweet."

"And pit bull," Claire chuckled. "Used mental assault tactics to wear the big bad lawyer man down."

Matt grumbled lightly and leaned into her side. He did that, sometimes. He never drew any attention to it, but Matt sought out the most benign touch, soft as butterfly wings. He touched her back, brushed her hand, or rested his head against hers. A part of Claire always wanted to respond and touch him back, but another part of her whispered caution. She still hadn't forgotten the open worry on his face as he asked if that sort of contact was okay. Reacting felt a little like putting a spot light on it, but _not_ reacting felt suspiciously like tolerating his touch rather than enjoying it.

"I was thinking maybe…you could come by tomorrow?"

There was that tone in Matt's voice again. Pseudo-casual, nervous, hopeful, stressed. He had sounded the same way when he asked why she was leaving New York.

"How so? Drop by the office, or…?"

"Well, tomorrow's Friday and I figured maybe we could get dinner, so if you came by the office after work…?"

"Is this a dinner invite, or me meeting your friends?"

"Maybe a bit of both," he said, smiling like he had all the confidence in the world.

"Where would we eat?" she asked. "Fancy or not fancy?"

"Depends on the food you want. I know the owner of a great dim sum place in China Town."

"Dim sum, lose some," she mused. She was still thinking about meeting his friends. Just as she had asked, he was opening himself up to her, offering her his life bit by bit. It was equally thrilling and terrifying. It wasn't half the city exploding terror, or even Matt crawling through her window half-dead terror. It was panic, what ifs and worries flooding through her in one tiny second.

"Not with this place," Matt continued. "It's kind of a hole in the wall, but the food is _phenomenal._ "

"Alright, I'll come for dim sum."

"I let the pun go, but the rhyming's gotta stop."

"With where I'm from? That's dumb."

Matt scoffed out a laugh and shook his head. They were quiet for another moment, then he asked, "So…you're okay, then? Coming over?"

"Yeah, sure. I don't mind picking up my hot blind date from the office."

"You're worse than Foggy with the wordplay," he sighed.

"You're gonna _love_ having us in the same room."

"Probably." Matt checked the time, fingers skimming over his watch face. "Lunch is about over, I should get back."

"Alright. You'll text me your office address and I'll get you around…?"

"Six, to be safe," he said, standing up and adjusting his coat.

"Sure thing."

Matt leaned over to kiss her, his lips just barely catching hers (kissing, he had awkwardly explained, was not his favorite thing to do after eating). She smiled, touched his shoulder, and said goodbye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrap me in a blanket made of these people's love and friendship and I will die happy.


	10. the glory of an honest word

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look! A real date! With real date-y things! Now isn't this just the best way to spend the tenth chapter?

Matt was more than a little nervous about formally introducing Claire to the rest of Nelson and Murdock. The last girl he had introduced to Foggy had been…crazy. Matt had thought her thrill-seeking cute and adventurous until she insisted on driving at night while kissing him. They had avoided hitting the light pole, but their relationship had undoubtedly been totaled.

Then again, most all of Matt's girlfriends had been less than ideal. Bringing Claire on scene—kind, intelligent, loyal, caring, heartfelt Claire—was a whole other ball game. Part of him dreaded Foggy's comments, while part of him was terrified it would suddenly stop working when it involved other people. Introducing a girl to his friends (Matt's equivalent of bringing her home to the family, since everyone he was related to was dead and the thought of introducing _anyone_ to Stick made him physically uncomfortable) always felt suspiciously like the kiss of death.

Maybe that was why he was dating a nurse. She knew how to heal everything he broke.

Matt tried not to let his edginess show, but he compulsively found himself checking the time, counting down until Claire showed up at his office. The morning was alright, with a potential client and a lawsuit about broken pipes, promises, and a collectible Elvis figurine stealing his attention. The afternoon, however, was a crawl.

Karen noticed his listlessness and teased him about it after lunch, so Matt doubled down to prove he _wasn't_ distracted. At least he had something official to show for the day. Though he supposed introducing Claire was probably the _most_ official thing he could do in both his work and personal life.

As the clock ticked closer and closer to six, Matt started listening for Claire. He analyzed every step and breath that entered the building, straining until his teeth were clenched tight enough to give him a headache. He relaxed his jaw, then opened his hands. Tiny crescents had appeared on his palm from where his fingernails had dug in.

Matt let out a breath. It was pointless to search for things that weren't there. Which meant he gasped in shock when he smelled Claire's lotion no less than a floor away.

He braced his hands against his desk, heart screaming in his chest. This was it, this was where they became real to everyone in the world. Matt had decided on introducing her to his friends, he wasn't going to chicken out now by racing down to meet her and cutting Foggy and Karen out of the picture entirely.

Matt found himself holding his breath as he tuned out the sirens and the dogs down the street and the people upstairs and his own heartbeat. Claire walked down the hall, turned, and opened the door.

"Oh, hello," Karen said, an apology primed on her lips. "We're actually about—"

"Yeah, sorry. I'm looking for Matt?"

"—to close—wait, what? Matt?

"Yeah, I'm picking him up for dinner. I'm Claire Temple."

"You're— _oh_ , yeah, absolutely!"

Matt stood up, eager to direct conversation as soon as possible. He was beat by Foggy, who actually tripped over his waste basket as he burst into the main room. And _Matt_ was supposed to have super hearing.

" _Claire_?" Foggy asked, the less than subtle edges of amazement and panic in his voice. "You're—hoooooly crap."

"I see I've been talked about."

"Only the good things" Matt said, appearing in his doorway. He could feel three sets of eyes swing to him, heating up the air with their intensity.

"Yeah _right,_ " Karen scoffed. "You practically need torture tools and a _cypher_ to get him to talk about you."

The blood in Matt's ears was loud as they all came to the edge. Here was the deciding moment. Either things worked out fine between Claire and his friends and he somehow avoided catastrophe, or it all fell apart and he had yet another mess on his hands.

But then they were all laughing—Foggy from nerves, Claire from understanding, Karen from delight at finally having met Claire. Matt's laugh was more a sigh of relief.

" _Yeah,_ he's not exactly forthcoming with details," Claire agreed.

"Don't worry, Matt, we still love you anyway," Foggy called.

A band released from around his chest, finally allowing him to draw a full breath. Matt stepped forward, eager to get them back on track. "Claire, this is my business partner, Foggy Nelson."

"We've, uh, met before. In the emergency room," Foggy said, adding about a dozen layers of ' _accept the lie accept the lie accept the LIE'_ to his voice.

"I remember," Claire said, the soft rasp of a handshake undercutting her words.

"And this is Karen Page, our enterprising legal assistant."

"You're the one that cornered him into admitting we're dating, right?"

"I—oh. He told you about me?" Karen asked. Her voice lit up with surprise and delight at having earned a mention.

"Yep. And don't let up on him. Someone needs to call out his crap when I'm not around."

"Well, I'm at least glad he's telling _you_ stuff," Foggy said, pretending to be huffy as he fake punched Matt's arm. "We were totally in the dark as to his phone flirting practices."

Karen asked Claire if she had the office's number, and then suddenly they were speaking Girl, pinging from subject to subject as Karen found Claire a business card.

"How do they _do_ that?" Foggy whispered, voice torn between awe and fear. "They barely met and are already talking about _everything._ "

"I only have super senses, Foggy, not all knowledge about the universe," Matt whispered back.

Foggy laughed and then staggered his breath, preparing to say something. Matt tried not to tense as he waited. "Matt, you know…I'm really glad you told us about her."

"It was kinda hard _not_ to. You chased me across the office until you had answers."

" _Yeah,_ but you _brought_ her here afterward. I'm just saying I'm glad you felt good about introducing us. Just thankful, I guess."

Matt turned to face Foggy, giving up his subtle eavesdropping on the girls. Foggy's heart sped up as he spoke, but it was in a nervous sort of way, not a lying one. Foggy meant what he was saying to the point of being anxious about it.

"Yeah, Foggy. No problem," Matt said. He cocked his head, not sure why this was so important to Foggy, but also not sure it was the right moment to ask.

"Well," Claire said, clapping her hands and interrupting his thoughts, "I'm glad to have met the partner's in crime—" Foggy let out nervous laughter that was a little too loud "—but we have dinner plans and this is my first free weekend in _who_ knows how long, so. I'm making the most of this night."

"Oh, of course! Don't let us keep you!" Karen said, waving her hands at them. She ushered them to the door, saying, "Have a good time! Seriously, go on Matt, have fun! Foggy and I will lock up."

"Make good choices!" Foggy called after them, making Claire snort.

"That _liar,_ " Matt heard Karen say as they turned the corner of the next hall. "He told me their schedules didn't fit dinner plans."

"Y'know, Karen," Foggy said, "that's one lie I'm gonna let him get away with."

* * *

Claire found herself biting back giggles as she walked with Matt. She was excited for dinner, though she couldn't quite say why. This whole adventure in relationship repair was going beautifully. A couple months ago, her best hopes for Matt had been to be able to hold a conversation that wasn't laced with bitterness and hurt. Now she had met his friends and they were headed off to have a _dinner date._

"What's so funny?" he asked.

"Nothing, I just—I'm excited, y'know?"

"It's only Chinatown," Matt said, smirking slightly.

"That's not what I mean," she said, bumping him with her hip.

"I know," he admitted, smile turning a little softer. "I'm excited, too."

"When's the last date you went on?" Claire asked. Matt raised his eyebrows and tilted his head toward her.

"Are we counting late-night nursing sessions?"

" _Hell_ no."

"Then...something like eight months ago?"

"Seriously? Midnight parkour not leave a lot of time for the ladies?"

"Not usually the ones I'd consider taking home with me"

"Then I feel _honored,_ " she teased squeezing his hand to signal they could cross the street to the subway entrance.

"What about you?"

"When was my last date? Mm…a month and a half ago."

"Really? What'd you do?"

"I went on a double date for a friend. We saw some off-Broadway play and had ice cream."

"Wait, you went _for_ a friend?" Matt made a face as they stopped before the subway turnstiles. He gestured her forward when she hesitated, and she swiped her card at the turnstile. She kept talking as he did the same, carefully holding his cane so that it wouldn't catch in the narrow walkway.

" _Yes,"_ she sighed _. "_ He was _very_ nervous about this girl he liked, so I doubled up with his buddy."

"Was the play good?" Matt asked, reaching for her arm. "We need the Q, by the way."

Claire shrugged and let Matt settle next to her. She followed the signs for the Q line, still talking. "Eh, it wasn't _bad._ I'm not really a theater person, so I can't say if it was me or them, though."

They continued chatting as they walked, the conversation staying closer to banter than anything else. Claire asked how Matt navigated the subways on his own, which elicited a slight shrug.

"The announcements say where you are every few minutes. When I get out of the station, I have an app that says where I am."

"What, you can't pinpoint _exactly_ where you are, based on the slight nuances of the smell in the air?"

Matt snorted and shook his head. "Honestly, I try not to breathe too deeply in the summer. There are a _lot_ of hobos."

Claire laughed and leaned into his side as the train rattled to a stop and they got out.

As they neared the restaurant, Claire felt her stomach twist. She was excited, yes, but also nervous. This was their first dinner date. She had every intention for it to go as beautifully as planned, but she was also distinctly aware that it could go horribly. Short of more Russians or ninjas or whoever the hell Matt was fighting now (a cartel, maybe?), she doubted they could get worse than they'd had before. Which was a very pitiful or a pretty fantastic standard. She hadn't decided which.

At the same time, something bothered Claire about the fact that _this was their first dinner date._ They'd been seeing each other for weeks, and yet, this was the first time they did something more serious than a quick lunch or breakfast. Everything had been charming and nice, but it had been lacking in substance. Claire was all for taking their time, but she knew there was a whole _cavern_ full of tougher things they still had to pick apart. Plus, not talking about important things had sort of led to the whole fiasco surrounding Fisk bombing the Russians.

Meeting Matt's friends was a good start, but she wasn't sure when they were supposed to go next, or if she even _knew_ what 'next' was. Their typhoon of an introduction had already shone a light on some of Matt's ugliest secrets. Surely the only place they could go was up.

"Okay, which place is it?" she asked, glancing down the cluttered alleys of vendors and restaurants.

"One more street."

He guided her around a corner, then past business after business until he stopped before an unassuming restaurant.

"I promise, it'll be great," he whispered.

Claire raised an eyebrow. Clearly, Matt knew even without his sight that the 'Orange Dragon' before them looked less than impressive. But the smells coming from the open door were promising, and there was _no way_ Matt Murdock would lead her to some hole in the wall that had bad food.

"Well, the guys shelling beans at the back table are speaking Mandarin, so it _must_ be true."

Matt grinned and led her inside.

The host lit up when he saw Matt, then gestured them to a table. He laid out a menu for Claire, then disappeared into the kitchen.

"You come here often enough to have everything memorized?" Claire raised an eyebrow at Matt. He smiled in a way that was both a little pleased and embarrassed.

"They don't have any menus in Braille, so the waiter picks whatever he thinks I'll like. But, yes, I do come here quite a bit."

"How do you know this place?" Claire asked. The smile on his face looked forgotten as he toyed with the placemat, spreading his fingers flat over it.

"The owner's wife tried to claim he had stolen the business from her. She would have won if Foggy and I hadn't stepped in."

"I feel like your business trades in favors as much as money."

Matt snorted. " _Yeah._ A woman tried to give us an advance made of weekly baked goods the other day."

"Were they good?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "The banana bread smelled a little too much like cat for me to try."

Claire burst into laughter, making her slap her hand over her mouth to smother the noise. Matt was trying to cover his own surprised smile as he waited for her to speak.

"Matt, sometimes I have to wonder—do you even _realize_ some of the stuff you say?"

"You asked, so I gave an answer."

"No, you just— _say_ things and you totally mean them. It's not an exaggeration with you, it really _did_ smell like cat."

He shrugged, still fighting his grin. He looked relaxed, far more at ease than he had been in the office. If this was the path 'next' demanded, Claire decided she was okay taking it.

"So," she said, pressing her hands flat on the table, "real talk. What do you recommend?"

"The soup dumplings are great."

"The— _what?_ "

"Soup dumplings," he said, giving her another grin. "It's exactly how it sounds."

"Okay, what else?"

"The barbeque pork buns are good, I like the shrimp dumplings…"

Claire scanned her menu trying to find the food he listed off. "Holy crap. There are a million things on here. How about we stick to 'whatever the waiter thinks is good' thing, while I'll order a Sprite."

Matt laughed and nodded, smoothing his hands over the placemat again.

The waiter came to collect their order, then they were alone again. The men in the back spoke in lowered voices, though occasionally they would break into an excited shout.

"What're you thinking about?" she asked Matt. He turned to face her like he was refocusing. His smile was warm when it came, but he hesitated just long enough to make her wonder.

"Whether you'll like what I chose."

She huffed out a laugh but didn't say anything. There was more he wasn't telling her.

"Why, what're you thinking about?" Matt shifted in his chair, leaning forward a little. Claire considered him. Their waiter swept by with their drinks, then left to clean a nearby table.

Claire swallowed and glanced at her empty plate. The first thing that came to mind were her thoughts from earlier, but she didn't want to bring it up if it dampened the buttery warmth in her middle. It was like she'd told matt before; when things were good with him, they were _so_ good. Sacrificing that in favor of her worries about them possibly being gun shy felt like a miserable trade.

Nikki's voice floated to her head, reminding her that it wasn't fair for her to make all the choices in the relationship. Except Matt seemed quite content not to change things, if she was being fair. But she didn't even know if this _was_ a choice to make. It was only a passing thought she'd had a few minutes before.

"That depends," she said finally. "Do you want the conversation here on out to be light or serious?"

Matt tried to act unworried, but his eyebrows drew together. "That's a little…ominous," he said.

Claire huffed out a laugh. "It's not supposed to be, but hey. Fair warning."

"Okay, then. Shoot."

Claire closed her eyes. She really, really _hated_ that tone of voice, his façade of being totally fine, no matter what. And by 'hated', she meant 'it made her fidgety and uncomfortable because she didn't know what to do with that sort of mind-numbing self-doubt in someone she loved'.

She let out a slow breath. "How do you feel about where we are?"

"Hm?"

"Us. What are your thoughts?"

"I'm…not sure what you're looking for here, Claire."

Their waiter appeared with the soup dumplings. Claire nodded at the man in thanks and cracked open her chopsticks, trying to pretend that her biggest worry was how to eat a soup dumpling with two little sticks.

"Cut it open with your chopsticks and work on the dumpling itself from there," Matt said absently. He had equipped himself with a spoon, but he looked distracted.

Why was the subject of them always so _hard_ for her to talk about? Barely three sentences and already her heart was beating fast enough to make her light headed.

"I…feel like we're both tiptoeing around this."

"Tiptoeing?"

"I feel like…we're skimming the surface," she said, pushing around the wrapping of her now punctured soup dumpling with her chopsticks. "Things have been really nice, but I was just thinking about it and it feels kinda… simple."

"I would have thought we deserved some simplicity," he laughed, but there it was. The little head tilt, the flinch of a smile that tried to hide his worries. Claire sighed. Well, at least this was difficult for both of them.

"I'm okay with that for _some_ stuff, but not all things." They couldn't just skate through their relationship and pretend it _hadn't_ taken a whole lot of ugly to get there.

"What do you want, Claire?" he asked. His voice was low and completely serious, determined to do as she said.

Claire opened her mouth, ready to tell him not to _do_ that, to stop deferring to her judgment on every single damn thing. She closed her mouth. It was a fair question. She couldn't snap at him because she was feeling stressed and uncertain.

"You know what I want," she said. She scowled at the ceiling, because that was the biggest lie she'd told all week. How could Matt know the nuances of her desires when _she_ didn't even know? "I'm just saying it's okay for us to go forward. It's been a rollercoaster ride from the beginning, I know, but we don't need to get permission to get closer to each other."

Matt shrugged, toying with his dumpling.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up," Claire said. "I mean, it's our first dinner date and I basically brought it to a screeching halt."

Matt shook his head, but the rest of their food arrived before he could speak. Claire busied herself with the platter of assorted dumplings and rice, hoping distance would make the subject easier.

"I'm not very… _open_ with people," Matt said after a moment. Claire looked up at him in surprise. His face was turned down to the table, but she could see that his eyebrows were scrunched together. "It's always been hard for me. After—after the accident, I kept a lot from people. It was easier that way."

Claire put down her chopsticks, stomach tightening. This felt like a bigger secret than any he'd given her before, intimate in a way learning his identity never could be. Knowing his name and where he lived was one thing. Seeing his soul laid bare was _completely different._

"I'm not asking for you to be completely open with me about everything," Claire told him. "That's ridiculous to demand from anyone. I just—"

"No, Claire, listen," Matt said. He turned his face up to her, expression still pulled in slightly pained earnesty. "I want you to hear this. I'm not…very _good_ with telling people things, or showing them parts of myself, especially important things. I'm sorry that's carried over to you," he said. The words were so gentle, a heart broken confession meant only for her.

She watched him for a long moment, suddenly uncomfortable. She could tell she had stumbled onto something bigger than she'd expected, and now was not the time to pick it apart. Not here. Maybe later, when it was dark and they were alone and were too tired to be self-conscious.

"Thank you for telling me," she said. He forced the corners of his mouth to go up, more of a grimace than a smile. Matt's head was still ducked low, like he was ashamed of what he'd said. "Hey, really. I mean it. Thank you."

Claire reached over the table and laid her hand by his plate. It took a moment, but Matt took it. She squeezed his hand to reaffirm what she'd said. He smiled again, this one a little more honest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters like this are the heart of the story. There's no real plot, it's just Matt and Claire getting to know each other and making things work as a couple. Little things like meeting friends, having serious conversations, and spending time with each other are the building blocks of everything here.


	11. nevertheless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look more date night

They continued with their dinner. The conversation seemed different somehow; still relaxed, but more candid than before. Matt told Claire about the midnight runs he used to make to Chinatown as a kid, searching for dinner because he knew his father wouldn't have eaten anything after a match. Claire told him about her own childhood, how she had lived two lives of her own: the English speaking one at school and the Spanish-speaking one at home.

 _This_ was what she wanted, what they both needed. Things were still good, they were both still happy, but now it was with an added dose of honesty. Each little detail filled in the empty parts of Matt in her head.

Claire laughed over her dumplings, relaxing farther and farther into her chair. She had started tracing her foot along his calf as a joke a little while back, but the action had turned into something lazy and comforting. Some of Matt's walls had come down as well. It was slight, but she could see tiny differences in the way he talked. He wasn't weighing every word, trying to find the perfect, clever thing to say.

"I'm going to have to put this place in my lunch rotation," Claire said as they left. "It's beyond delicious."

"I told you!" Matt laughed. Their sides bumped against each other as they walked, arm in arm like it was the most normal thing in the world. "And you had doubts."

"I never said that."

"I could feel it _rolling_ off you."

"Yeah, well, the curb appeal could use some work," she sniffed.

They walked for a moment before Matt cleared his throat. "Do you want to go home? I can call you a cab."

"Can you _call_ a cab?" Claire asked, giving him a curious look. She couldn't see Matt's eyes behind his glasses, but she was fairly sure he was rolling them.

" _Yes,_ I can call a cab. It doesn't take sight to raise your arm and look desperate."

Claire laughed and bumped his side. "Okay, fair enough. Uhm, I'm not really ready to go home, because then I'll see all the stuff I still haven't unpacked properly and I'll just want to go straight to bed. This is my first free weekend in _who_ knows how long. I wanna make tonight last."

"Alright. Then we could keep walking, or…"

"How far away is your place?" Claire asked. It was getting a little cold and the idea of having to stay on her feet on her night off genuinely made her want to cry.

Matt looked surprised as he answered. "About twenty minutes by cab."

"Do you mind if we go back to your place?"

"No, not at all." Matt tried to hide his smile, but Claire knew he was more than a little delighted to still be out with her.

"Besides," Claire said, "you're gonna finish telling me about how Foggy _loves_ Broadway."

"It's a less than secret passion of his," Matt told her. "Seeing his first show was probably equally important as passing the bar."

Claire was glad when they reached Matt's apartment, if only because it was warm. She puffed into her hands as he unlocked the door, wondering why the hell their cab hadn't had proper heating and why New York felt the need to start getting chilly in the middle of September.

"Do you want something to drink?" Matt asked. He slipped off his coat and put it away with an ease that made her smile. "There's beer, milk, water…"

"Only getting more exciting you go," she laughed, shrugging out of her coat.

"If you want something warm there's coffee or red tea."

"Red tea?"

"Yeah, just got it yesterday. Rooibos, I think. It's got vanilla beans in it."

"Oh, sign me right up," Claire said.

Matt walked into the kitchen, flipping on his electric kettle. Claire sat on the edge of the table, watching him work. She found his hands mesmerizing, moving gracefully around the familiar space. He moved like he wasn't thinking about it, not straining every last detail from his surroundings to make up for his lack of sight. He looked comfortable, for once giving himself the luxury of making mistakes.

"Matt?"

"Yeah?"

"What made you want to become a lawyer?"

He gave a surprised laugh, pulling a spoon from a drawer. "I was a nerdy kid that liked reading. I liked philosophy, things like social contract theory, how people naturally come together and select a ruler to make a better society. Nothing crazy like Socrates' Utopia," he said, wrinkling his nose, "but something that was attainable. Something people can make for themselves. Then I found Thurgood Marshall, how he wanted to help society improve itself, help people become better."

"So you became a lawyer? Why not get into social work or join a charity group? Why the law?"

"If a society doesn't have rules, it's anarchy." Matt's expression changed, going from slightly self-amused to serious. It was different from I'm-sorry-I-endangered-you serious, and it was in a whole other field from I'm-the-devil-of-Hell's-Kitchen serious. But it had every bit of the intensity, filled with a passion that was completely Matt. "Lawyers aren't just to get out of trouble, you know? As a defense attorney, I can help people defend themselves, help them tell their side. Society has the opportunity to improve itself once the truth is heard."

Claire watched him for a long moment. She didn't actually know if he was a good lawyer (probably not half bad, if only from sheer determination), but she couldn't help but think that was awfully optimistic coming from a person that experienced just how hard it was to bring the truth to light.

Then again, she guessed that was where the Daredevil part of his life came in. The truth would be heard somehow, even if it rang only in his sensitive ears.

"So why'd you become a nurse?" Matt asked. "And how hot do you like your water?"

"Not too hot. And I _wish_ my path had been half so clear cut," she sighed. "I was in college when I decided I wanted to help people. And even though it would be over broken bones and bad cases of food poisoning or something, I wanted to interact with them, offer a little comfort. You never know when a sympathetic face helps."

Matt smiled at her like she couldn't have said anything to delight him more. He poured the water over tea leaves, then added milk and sugar at her instruction. He walked over to her and handed off the tea. Claire breathed deep, the smell of it warm and sweet like a hug.

"However you got there, I'm glad for it."

"Yeah, probably just because I hauled your ass from a dumpster," she mumbled into her cup.

Matt laughed and shook his head. He lingered in front of her, their faces almost level. He reached out to her knees, his fingers just barely brushing the tops of her thighs.

"I really enjoyed tonight, Claire."

She smiled at him, the warmth in her chest from more than just the tea. "Me too. We actually managed to make it through a whole evening together without someone getting hurt."

"Well, the night's not over yet, so I wouldn't get too comfortable."

"You snark me much more and you're going to pull out those stitches."

Matt's expression folded into something defensive as his hand fluttered to the stitches she had given him a couple of days before (and honestly, Claire was fine doling out a few sutures so long as it wasn't returning his stomach, chest, and back to one piece). She scoffed a laugh into her tea, then set it down.

Matt sighed and took off his glasses. He set them beside Claire, then massaged the bridge of his nose.

"Long day?" Claire asked.

"What? Oh, no. It was actually a pretty good one." He smiled at her, this one big and honest and sweet. Claire tilted at her head. She'd known Matt for a while now, and yet she still had no idea how he could he could have so many different looks _._ The same person shouldn't be allowed to be handsome, frighteningly powerful, disarmingly cute, and everything in between.

Claire slid off the table to her feet, which she quickly realized was a huge mistake. She as right up against Matt now, her front practically brushing his. She squeezed her eyes shut, wondering which was louder in his ears; her tiny gasp or the thrumming of her heart.

"Claire?"

"Yeah?" She glanced up just long enough to meet his unfocused eyes, then returned to staring at their feet. Hers were practically between his.

"Thank you for listening tonight."

"Not at all. I enjoyed hearing about baby Matt, before he grew the horns."

"No, really, I—" He swallowed, ghosting through the words before he said them. Matt found her hands, just brave enough to hold her fingers. "Thank you for listening and not—not jumping to horrible conclusions."

Claire's breath stuttered in her throat. She closed her eyes and tried to marshal herself enough to speak. Matt raised one of his hands to her cheek, not touching her but close enough that she could feel its heat.

"Of—course. I'm never going to judge you because you're being honest." He was touching her now, his fingertips brushing the edge of her jaw and making it even harder to speak. "To be fair, I wasn't doing so hot in that conversation. Everything I said in there was—was a huge…mess…" She petered out, the words lost as he brushed a knuckle against her lip. His face was closer than before, eyes half lidded as he leaned fractionally nearer.

He kissed her, slow and careful. It wasn't like the handful of kisses they'd shared since their big talk, nor even like their first kiss. It wasn't fast, it wasn't flavored with blood, it wasn't afraid of losing everything even as it attempted to take a little more. Claire wasn't sure what it was. She just knew it felt wonderful.

Matt leaned down to her, one hand cradling her face while the other was anchored to her hip. Each kiss was deliberate, like he was taking his time to place them just so on her mouth. She braced herself against his arms, but then her hands were slipping to his back and spreading across the expanse of his shoulders. She could feel the muscles move under her palms as he held her a little nearer, lessening the minuscule space between them.

Matt opened his mouth, his tongue tracing her bottom lip. She kissed him harder, promising to stay within reach, to keep holding him, to take his lip between her teeth.

There was no way this was legal. Kissing Matt like she had all the time in the world _must_ have been too sinful to be allowed.

Matt picked her up and pushed her back onto the table, his touch scorching her skin. He leaned into her, hands planted on either side like he was keeping her in place to kiss her harder. Claire moved from his burning kisses to the corner of his mouth, the side of his face, his jaw, his ear. He let out a heavy breath as she laid open mouthed kisses on his neck, pressing into her touch, silently demanding (begging) for more.

Claire hooked her legs around his waist as he grabbed hold of her hips. Her shirt had been pushed up around her ribs, though she didn't known if it had ridden up naturally or if Matt had pushed it up. He eased her down onto the table as he kissed her mouth again, sweeping aside the cluster of jam jars in the middle of the table. Her tongue was in his mouth and she was undoing his tie, eager to take off his shirt completely. His hands slid under her shirt, pushing it higher and higher with bone melting leisure.

Claire pulled her mouth away from Matt's. She clenched her teeth, trying to tame the desire to tear his shirt off and adore every inch of his skin. Doing that was a bad idea. Taking off clothes on the first makeout was a very _bad_ idea.

"Claire?" Matt asked, instantly on alert. He pulled her upright, hands sliding back down to her hips like he was suddenly self-conscious of the touch.

"I-it's nothing," she said, resting her forehead against his chin. "I just—that was a little fast."

Matt backed up a little more, and Claire reluctantly unhooked her legs from around his waist. His expression was confused at the moment, but she knew it was only a beat away from self-reproach.

"Sorry, I hadn't meant to push—" Matt began, but Claire waved her hands between them as though she could break up his words.

"No, no, we're not playing the blame game here. Everything was great but then my legs were around your waist and…yeah. Here, uhm, can I…?"

"Oh, of course," he said. He took a quick step back, giving her space to slide off the table. He looked self-conscious, his body language closing down like he was _certain_ he had done something wrong.

"Let's sit. This is probably something we should talk about," she sighed. He sat down across from her, expression still a little confused. Claire put her hands on her knees, deciding to cut straight to it. Blunt was good, blunt worked with Matt when she had time to properly explain. "Okay, so hear me when I saw this. This is not _your_ fault. You were great, actually. I'd definitely do this again."

Matt let himself laugh, but the smile fell a little too fast. Claire suppressed another sigh. That was a fight for another day. Helping him fix that was a fight for another day.

"I just—I felt myself getting a little carried away," Claire continued. "And I know from experience that things get messy when a couple goes too fast. Specifically with me."

Matt frowned, expression surprised. He tilted his head, eyes wandering as he pieced together his thoughts. "So…is that why you've been saying we need to go slow?"

"Kind of. I mean, like you said, we deserve simple. We skipped our first date and cut straight to taking down the mob together. Then it was radio silence and we only spoke _once_ in four months, and I just…I want to have time to sound all this out. Which is different from what I was saying earlier about not tiptoeing, but that's different. I mean, I was talking about a different kind of thing. Ooooooh my gosh _,_ I'm just sounding like a huge hypocrite tonight," she groaned, putting her head in her hands.

Matt reached out and pulled her hands from her face. When she looked at him, he was wearing a slight smile. Claire bit her cheek to keep from leaning forward and tasting it.

 _Get yourself under_ control, _Claire._

"You don't sound like a hypocrite," Matt told her.

"I just...feel like I'm all over the place. I'm sorry." Claire closed her eyes and tried to form a proper thought. "Okay. I want to go forward like a normal couple, one step at a time. But I don't want us to be so afraid of going forward that we just _stand still_ for forever. This should be a progression of some sort, right? Once we're both comfortable, we move on to something else to tackle. Does that make any sense at all?"

"I think it does," Matt told her, still wearing that kind smile.

"I don't want to mess this up," she said, painfully aware that this was _exactly_ what Matt had told her just a little while ago. "I don't want to make assumptions about us—or _not_ make them—and then just ruin everything. That's sort of why I said we needed to keep open lines of communication, so things like this don't spiral into something horrible."

"I think that's fair." Matt was quiet a moment, eyebrows furrowed like he was still sorting through the last few minutes. Then his expression lightened, eyes jumping up to somewhere around her ear. "But…I have to ask. How have things gotten messy when you go too fast?"

Claire made a sound that was torn between a sigh and a laugh. "Nineteen-year-old me moved in with my boyfriend because we were in _love._ I realized maybe I had jumped the gun when we got into a fight about the couch and I threw a mug at him."

"You threw a _mug_ at him?" Matt's hand twitched like he wanted to make sure her cup of tea was well out of reach. Claire rolled her eyes but didn't bother to bite back her smile.

" _Yes._ Not one of my shining moments, I know. Thankfully, I pulled things together real quick, and now my mug throwing days are behind me."

"Alright. So…what's too fast for us? Were we in danger of that just now?"

Claire raised an eyebrow. She was _still_ in danger of climbing onto his lap and kissing him until they couldn't think straight. "Uh, _yeah,_ yeah we were. At least, I was. Were _you_ not?"

Matt's sheepish smile said all she needed to know.

" _Yeah,_ I thought so. For right now I think—I think it's probably a good idea to just put a pin in sex for the foreseeable future," Claire continued, trundling on before she became self-conscious. "Unless you're one of the _really_ good Catholics that waits until marriage."

Matt's eyebrows raised ever so slightly at her bluntness, but then he gave a truly devilish smirk. "Claire, that's what confessional is for."

"That's it, I'm stepping back before a lightning bolt smites you right now," Claire said, scooting back her chair. "Don't get ashes in my tea."

"I'm _kidding,_ " he said. He gestured for her to come back, laughing when she batted his hands away.

"Are you okay with that, though?" Claire asked, sobering. "I'm only saying this because I want to get all of our other stuff hammered out before we potentially complicate things by bringing the physical side into things."

"I think it's a good place to start," he said slowly. "Like you said, things get a little messy when you rush."

"Okay." Claire folded her hands into her lap. Matt was watching her, or at least, his version of watching her. His eyes were fixed somewhere near her face, and they had an intensity that said he was studying her pulse and a thousand other things. Or at least, she guessed that was true. She'd never actually asked him about that.

He gave her a tiny smile, then leaned back. "Do you want to finish your tea?"

"What? Oh, yeah."

Matt handed her the mug and got to his feet. "You're a good woman, Claire," he murmured.

Claire looked up to crack a joke, but stayed quiet when he kissed her forehead. Matt walked away, his hand lingering on her shoulder.

She stared ahead, suddenly fighting tears. That one, tiny gesture had contained a warmth that she had never felt with Matt, an honesty that had been fundamental and previously unseen. _Thank you,_ it said, _thank you for caring so much about me._

She wrapped her hands around the mug and smiled into her tea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm aware I may have just poked some holes in people's dreams, but I'm okay with that. There is too, too, toooooooo much going on with Matt and Claire for them to skip this fundamental relationship building. Also, let's be honest, smut is fine but I will literally journey to the ends of the earth to find all the cuddle!fic I can find.


	12. by night, love, tie your heart to mine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't care what season two says, autistic!melvin for life.

In a strange way, Matt missed his black outfit. Of course, he didn't miss the _pain_ that came with it, nor the hassle of having to constantly buy replacement pieces when it became damaged. But there was as energy he liked about it, an almost _lawlessness_ that came with combat boots and a mask. In those early days he hadn't been certain of what he could do, what he _would_ do. ' _Save the city'_ was an easy answer to sling out when questioned, but there was so much more to it than that. Most everything back then had been a new decision made on gut instinct and reflex. Matt had been blinded by inexperience and ignorance, fumbling his way to his objective in the dark.

Now, his path was much clearer. His decisions were (for the most) thought out and made before his adrenaline started going and fists went flying. Decisions like when his suit needed to be taken to Melvin for an upgrade.

"Mr. Daredevil, you're not wearing the suit," was the first thing Melvin said when he noticed Matt in the workshop. He sounded deflated. Matt had to work to hide his smile, touched by the concern in the man's voice. Few people were half so considerate after Matt beat them into submission (though Matt felt genuinely terrible about that. He had tried to make up for it the best way he could, which was through a bottle of Yoohoo and a sincere apology. Melvin was thrilled.).

"Is it okay, do you not like it? I can make you a new one, Betsy says that sometimes problems can be fixed by doing things better the second time."

"No, I like the suit," Matt said. He walked closer, weaving past a work bench. "But I was wondering if there was something stronger you could make it out of? Knives have been giving me some trouble lately."

"Knives? Knives are bad," Melvin said. He took the suit from Matt, holding it like it was fragile as a kitten. If he noticed the multiple slashes on the arms and chest, he didn't comment. "I thought you were too fast for knives. You said you were too fast for bullets, so you should be faster than knives."

Matt sighed and leaned against a table. "You'd think that would be the case. It's harder to sense a knife coming, though."

Melvin hummed in agreement, and Matt wondered yet again if he knew more about Matt's abilities (and disability) than he let on. Most people didn't seem overly concerned about the logistics of him wearing a scarf over his face when he was kicking their kneecaps in, so he hadn't had to worry about it. With Melvin, though, Matt was sure he noticed. He didn't question why Matt said 'sensed' rather than 'saw', and he had already made slight adjustments to the suit unrequested. The gloves were the biggest example, with the slit around the knuckles for him to slip his fingers through and feel unhindered. Melvin had also offered to line the suit with a gentler fabric, though Matt didn't recall ever complaining about the slightly abrasive material already used.

"How long will it take to fix?" Matt asked.

"That depends, that depends a lot." Melvin draped the suit over his desk, his fingers making a slick rubbing sound as they skimmed the suit fabric. "The red is letting you get hurt, so I don't wanna use the red. If you'd let me use black, that would keep you safer, a lot safer. But it'd be a week to come in."

"I like the red," Matt said. Melvin heaved a sigh like reasoning with him was the most frustrating thing in the world. It might have been. Foggy would be the leading expert on that (though Matt supposed Claire might be able to give him a run for his money, these days).

"But the red is letting you get _hurt."_

"I've already changed suits once. How're people gonna recognize me if I keep changing it?" he said, fighting again to keep the smile from his face.

" _I_ recognize you," Melvin said sullenly. Matt's mouth quirked, but he didn't let it turn into a full blown smile.

"I like the red," he insisted, voice softer this time.

Melvin huffed and clomped to the other side of the workshop. He ran his hand over the rolls of material, the sound shifting from a rough whisper to a sticking, sliding hum as he jumped rolls.

"You're gonna keep wearing the old black outfit, aren't you?" Melvin grumbled. "I don't _like_ that black, _that_ black doesn't keep you safe, and I gotta keep you safe. I gotta keep Betsy safe, and I gotta keep you safe."

"I know. I'll be extra careful."

"Okay. And I'll try to make a better red."

"Thank you, Melvin."

* * *

Of course, two days later a group of gang bangers made Matt a liar. Which really pissed him off, because he didn't _like_ lying to Melvin, and he didn't like having his arm laid open with a butterfly knife.

He thought he'd been careful. He had scouted the scene, determined what weapons were on the thugs, had prayed for deliverance before leaving his apartment like always. He had been _careful._

And yet.

Matt's nostalgia for the cargoes and athletic shirt vanished once a man with brass knuckles clipped his shoulder. He gasped, momentarily stunned without his armor to absorb some of the blow. A woman with the knife to get in a few good slashes. Matt blocked with his arms, hissing out a breath as her blade sank into his skin.

Knives were genuinely a bitch and a half for him to deal with. Who the hell cared about gun control when _knife_ control would save him from being turned to mincemeat every other damn day of the week.

He backed up a few steps, just enough to make the woman get confident and come within range of his batons.

Things were pretty quick after that.

Matt held the leader with the brass knuckles by the shirt front, the other members of his crew incapacitated on the ground.

"Who do you report to," he growled. "I want names, locations."

The drug ring he had been trying to ferret out had proved to be resilient. Every time Matt thought he had stomped them to the dust, another part rose up. He had been after them for weeks and was real damn tired of dicking around with the underlings. He had ousted Fisk, after all. A drug ring shouldn't have even been a bump in the road for him. The fact that he now had two new slashes on his arms didn't help his mood.

"Look man, I'm just a dealer, don't know anybody!" the man babbled, trying to lever Matt away without hurting his broken hand. Matt didn't even bother to listen to the jackhammer of his heart. He knew full well that he was one of the lieutenants of the whole operation.

"Listen to me, Levi. Tell the truth or I break the rest of your arm."

"I did! I'm a dealer! Look, the pay's good, that's why I've got the car and the hoes flock to me, alright? And—and I kinda talk myself up, I'm not actually—"

Levi broke off in a stream of what having been swearing in Portuguese when Matt twisted his arm.

"Okay! Okay! It's an old man, right? Old school, thinks himself like one of those old gangsters, some Al Capone shit. Goes by Ramone, yeah? I got nothin' else, lay off me!"

Matt dropped him. "Hand me your phone," he said.

Levi reluctantly gave it up. Matt dialed nine-one-one, then forced Levi to place the call. Then he zip tied him and his crew together.

Matt waited a few blocks before he called Claire. She sounded tired when she answered, but not sleepy.

"No rest for the wicked?" she asked, making him smile.

"Nor anyone else, it seems."

"What's the damage?" she asked.

"Just a couple of cuts."

"I thought you were being _careful,_ " she said. Matt rolled his eyes. He'd thought so, too. He cocked his head at what he thought was the clatter of pots through the speaker.

"I _was._ There were…extenuating circumstances."

" _Sure_ there were. Just get over here before you hurt yourself more."

Fifteen minutes later, Matt climbed through Claire's open window. He hadn't been to her new apartment before, and he'd taken a few extra moments to make sure that the open window on the fourth floor was an actual invitation and not a coincidence. He strained to make out every detail of her apartment, sorting out what was new and what was different. The main room seemed a little more open than her last place, though that might have been due to her still not having unpacked properly (apparently, Claire believed 'slow and steady wins the race' was suitable for making her living space comfortable).

The predominant sensation, though, was the smell. Claire's whole apartment smelled like breakfast; sausage, eggs, and toast all warming the air. It made her new place feel homey after the chilled bitterness of the city.

"What is this, retro day?" Claire asked. She was sitting on the arm of her couch, making it groan slightly as she stood up. "What happened to your red duds?"

"They're at the dry cleaners," he said, sliding off his mask. Claire scoffed and walked to the kitchen, setting a plate in the sink with a clatter. She came back out, her footsteps soft on the floor.

He frowned in surprise as she walked closer. She didn't smell like herself, or rather, the medley of scents he associated with her (coconut conditioner, rose soap, dark fruity lotion) was smothered by the smell of other people. He wrinkled his nose at the mix of sweat, cologne, alcohol, and what he thought might be fake leather.

"Were you at a _club_?" he asked, tilting his head.

Claire laughed and guided him to her coffee table. "I _was._ What gave me away?"

"A lot." That certainly explained why she hadn't sounded groggy when he called, and why she was eating in the middle of the night. "Are your hands gonna be steady after drinking?"

"For your information, I had _one_ alcoholic drink tonight, thank you. Nikki would have literally died if I didn't indulge on my first club outing in months."

"I hope you wore something slinky," Matt said. He could tell she was wearing a skirt, but nothing beyond the fact that it didn't have sleeves and that it hugged her legs (it took a surprising amount of will not to lift his hands and explore the exact shape of it).

" _Very._ I even had heels."

"Very nice. Did you have fun?"

"Yeah, I guess," she said, pulling on a pair of latex gloves. "I mean, clubs are a mixed bag. The music was great and I like the dancing, but then it gets a little loud and people always try to grope you and your shoes start to hurt…"

Matt raised his eyebrows, mouth pursing in distaste.

"It's better than it sounds at the moment," Claire promised. "Shirt off, please."

"It _sounds_ pretty horrible," he said, grimacing as his shirt stuck to the wounds on his arms.

"Have you ever been in one?"

" _No._ Dancing isn't high on a blind man's list of to-dos." Not to mention that much noise, smell, and touch would probably have him down with a migraine for a week.

"What about sky diving?" Claire asked. She dabbed an antiseptic swab over one of his cuts, her hands steady as promised.

"What?"

"You know—plane, parachute, the whole thing."

"Uhm, _no._ "

"Just checking. I've been wondering how far the daredevilry went."

"When'd you get home?" he asked, holding up his other arm for her to clean.

"About…five minutes before you called. I was starving, so I decided on food first. Otherwise, I would have cleaned up at least a little bit before you dropped by. There's some food left over, if you want it, by the way."

Matt had his refusal primed on habit, but then he hesitated. Why not? What could it hurt to accept?

"Sure," he said. "If you don't mind me hanging around a little longer before I go home."

"It's—" Claire leaned back to look at something, her leg straining against his to keep her balanced "—holy hell, Matt, it's almost three in the morning. I'm not going to make you go home bandaged and bruised in the middle of the _night._ "

"Don't worry, you'll have been a good host. You gave me dinner, after all." And her sending him bloodstained back into the night wasn't exactly a new thing for them. It was sort of how they'd first met. Apparently Claire had a more vested interest in his overall health now that they were dating. Matt couldn't actually say that he minded.

" _Matt._ Come on. Just stay the night." She spread butterfly stitches across his skin as she spoke, then grabbed a roll of bandages.

It was amazing how just a few words could turn Matt's amused pleasure into panic. To listen to her, it was like this was the most normal thing in the world. Which it wasn't. She had just offered to let him stay the night. Normally, this was when red flags started popping up in his brain. Things became _complicated_ when he started sharing concentrated space with his girlfriend.

Though probably not as complicated as secret identities and mob kidnappings.

"You look like a deer in the headlights. Come on, is the idea really that bad?"

"I…no. Not really."

"Good. Then you're staying," she said. "Take your aspirin. Eggs are in the pan."

She heaved herself up from the table, brushing her hands off like she had just completed a day's hard work.

"I'm gonna hop in the shower. _Don't_ leave while I'm in there, or else we will have _words_."

"Yes ma'am."

Claire walked away, her footsteps soft on the hardwood. Matt obediently shook out his painkillers from the bottle and wandered into the kitchen. The smell of eggs and sausage was stronger there, making his stomach rumble. Matt smiled and searched the cabinets for a plate, cup, and fork.

Claire didn't take long in the shower—by the time he had finished the eggs and cup of milk (whole milk, he noticed with approval), she was back in the living room. She entered the kitchen, wafting in the smell of her rosy soap, fabric softener, and lotion. Matt opened his mouth slightly, trying to get the most out of the smell. He wished bottled fragrances were like this; delicate, tantalizing, just enough to want more.

" _Here_ is your complimentary toothbrush," she said, setting it in his hand. "Bathroom is all yours."

"Thanks," he said. He wanted to pull her closer and nuzzle into her neck, drinking in as much of her as he could. He held himself in check, though. He couldn't reasonably eat her food, take her hospitality, _and_ get handsy. Plus, he probably didn't smell that great.

"Where do you want me to sleep?" he asked, easing out of his chair. He grimaced as the cuts on his arms stretched.

"Oh, uhm…" Claire glanced behind her, wet strands of hair swinging slightly onto her shoulder. She was wearing an oversized cotton t-shirt and shorts, both slightly damp from the bathroom's humidity. "I didn't even think about that, to be honest. The bed?"

"And…where does that leave you?"

Claire shrugged. "I've got a good couch."

Matt instantly shook his head, wrinkling his nose. "I'm not kicking you out of your _bed._ "

"It's not _kicking out_ if I offer it," she grumbled, walking with him to the living room. Matt turned his attention to the couch. From what he remembered, it was just a few inches too short for him to lay down comfortably. Not that he'd ever tell her.

"Claire. You go to bed. I'll make do."

"You're funny. Not funny 'haha', but funny. I'm not making the _injured_ guy with church in the morning sleep on my _couch._ "

"So you, the night shift ER nurse, will take the couch."

"If I must, _yes._ "

" _Claire—"_

 _"_ Matt—"

Matt rolled his eyes, unable to hold back a smile. "We could just _share_ the bed. I think we're _both_ too exhausted to try anything."

"You sure?"

"About being tired? Yes."

"No, I about the bed. What if it's twin-sized?"

Matt snapped his face toward her in slight horror, straining to tell if she was telling the truth. Claire laughed and shook her head.

" _Relax,_ it's not. Fine, we'll share. How early do you want to get up tomorrow?"

He sifted through the hours in his head, trying to decide just how long it would take him to make it to his apartment, get ready, then make it to mass.

"Seven?"

"Oh my gosh, you're making me even _more_ tired just thinking about it. _Four hours_ of sleep, if you're lucky, you realize that, right?"

"I'll take a nap after church."

"You'll need to _hibernate_ after church." Claire sighed, shaking her head. "Go clean yourself up before your bad habits give me a conniption. I'll take care of the bed."

Matt retreated to the bathroom, suppressing a grin.

Claire's bathroom was small but tidy. It was mostly tile and linoleum, but there was a thick rug and a fluffy towel hanging from the bar to give it some warmth.

Matt skimmed his fingertips over the counter, searching for the toothpaste. He picked it up, smiling slightly at the smell of baking soda and mint. He brushed his teeth, then searched for a washcloth. Matt would have preferred taking an actual shower, but he was too drained to mess with his fresh bandages.

Matt closed the bathroom door and cleaned himself off. He worked fast, shivering slightly as the warm water cooled on his skin.

Claire moved around outside, pacing from the living room to her bedroom. He listened to her, slowly letting the rest of the world filter in. Claire's unfamiliar neighborhood sounded like a nonsensical mix of noises, but he knew that if he waited it would resolve itself into patterns.

After he finished, Matt indulged himself with leaning against the counter for a few seconds. The adrenaline had disappeared, leaving him exhausted. The thought of going to sleep with Claire curled up beside him was honestly nicer than he wanted to admit.

"All done?" Claire asked as he walked back into the living room. The words were more mumbled than spoken, like she was too tired to open her mouth all the way.

"Uh, yeah, thanks. Where…" Matt trailed off, frowning. He focused, unsure if he was reading the room correctly. "Why is there a bed made on the floor?"

"Because I thought this would feel less awkward than sharing an actual mattress."

Matt edged closer, careful not to step on any of the blankets or pillows spread across the carpet with his boots. Claire had pushed the coffee table off to the side, making way for a makeshift queen-sized bed. She was already lying down, buried beneath a heap of blankets.

"How did you—was I gone for _that_ long?"

"No. I scalped the foam pad and blankets from my bed and brought them in here."

Matt blinked a couple of times, distinctly aware that he was stalling. "Well…do I need to do anything before—"

" _No,_ Matt. Lights are off, door's locked, curtain's closed. Just come lay down."

He hesitated again, then sat on the couch to take off his boots. He picked at the laces, then pulled them off. He peeled off his shirt, hesitated, then slipped out of his socks and pants. He edged around the bed, stomach turning.

This suddenly felt like _a lot._ The bed _shouldn't_ have felt like something huge, he knew that. It was, after all, not even a bed, just a crude reproduction of one. But it did, it felt like some fantastic gift that had been purchased under false assumptions. People didn't do this sort of thing for him, not really. He typically didn't deserve it. Matt couldn't say exactly where the line between 'acceptable' and 'undeserved' was, but he was certain it fell somewhere between saving him some eggs and reconstructing a bed on the floor to make him feel more comfortable. He felt like he had tricked Claire again, had somehow made her think he was worth more effort than he ever was.

Matt's mind flashed back to escapes routes—all of the dozens and dozens of back doors and safe guards he had built into every word and action around Claire. Why had he stopped, what could have _possessed_ him to give it up just when he so desperately needed it? This had to be a test of some sort, had to be a challenge to see if he would follow Claire's overarching rule of not giving in to temptation.

He sucked in a breath.

The reason he had _stopped_ giving himself escape routes was because he didn't need them. Claire had promised him that when she walked in and asked if he was still willing to give them a try, and then underlined it when she said that her desire to go slow was _not_ his fault. How many times had she told him that this was okay, _he_ was okay? Dozens. So he didn't need to feel like he was about to try something he knew he'd fail.

(Then again, he _had_ failed every major romantic relationship he'd tried.)

"Matt, are you gonna lay down or what?" Claire mumbled.

"Oh, yeah, sorry," he said, then clenched his teeth.

He was blowing this out of proportion. Laying in the same bed as Claire didn't mean he was bound to have sex with her—they both had agreed on as much fifteen minutes ago. And Claire wasn't acting like this was something huge. She had just dragged the foam cover of her bed to the living room as a sort of halfway point between one of them sleeping on the couch and the other taking the bed (or maybe she was _just_ making a point, no halfways about it).

Matt knelt on the empty side of the bed, hesitating one last second before pulling back the covers and sliding in.

His breath stuttered as the sensation of _Claire_ enveloped him. Claire smell, Claire sound, Claire taste. He swallowed, imagining the wave washing over his head and then settling behind him. All he wanted was to reach over and kiss her, from her mouth, down her neck, to her collar bones, under her shirt…

Claire let out a slow breath, like she was finally letting the tension in her body go.

"You warm enough?" she asked.

"Yeah, I'm good," Matt managed. Her sheets were soft, settling on his skin like knit jersey rather than woven cotton. "Are all these blankets from your bed?"

"Yep."

Matt clenched his hands in front of him, then made himself relax. This was what he wanted. No more questions, no more doubts. Just him and Claire.

Matt reached over and put his hand on Claire's side. He ignored the pain in his arms, focusing instead on the difference between her shirt and her skin. He took another deep breath, almost drunk on the dark red smell of her lotion. Her breath stirred the air, slow and relieved like an exhausted person finally allowed to rest. He scooted closer to her, their fronts pressing against each other.

He slid his hand down her back, slowly, slowly, testing where the limits were. Claire didn't say anything as he spread his hand across her back, but she did loop her arm under his. He hesitated, then slipped his hand under her shirt.

The only things Matt could hear were their heartbeats, currently out of rhythm with each other but soon to be resolved into a single tempo. He was acutely aware of every place their bodies touched—their legs, their hips, his hand and arm on her side and back, her fingers just barely brushing the skin over his ribs.

He loved her _so much._ The craving he had long since resigned himself to was gone, replaced instead by an almost dizzying sensation of freedom. He knew how to smother the desire to touch her, to hold his senses from roaming over her in an extreme form of voyeurism. Knowing he was allowed do and then _doing_ it, that was a different matter entirely.

Matt leaned over and kissed her neck. It was small, the tiniest touch to see if it was okay. Claire dragged in a deep breath, holding it like she was deciding what she wanted to say. Then she exhaled, the quietest form of acceptance she could give.

Matt pulled her closer and kissed her again, tasting the slight salt of sweat on her neck. Her hand moved up to his shoulder, holding him just a little bit closer.

He leaned back, licking his lips like he could swallow the heat from her skin. He lay there a moment, drinking in the buttery warmth of the moment, the sweet sincerity of being able to just _hold_ her.

Claire ran a hand over his hair and whispered, "Good night, Matt."

He didn't say anything in response—couldn't, really. His throat was stopped up with the need to thank both her and God, to express his utter amazement that she was fine to let his battered, stained hands touch her skin. He closed his eyes, lulled to sleep by her breath playing across his skin and her heart murmuring in his ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is my strong belief that Matt equates touch with affection. Finally being able to touch Claire in an intimate yet completely nonexpectant way is probably the moment that this all feels real to him. Claire is also probably realizing what emotional intimacy with Matt is like, which will be fun to explore later on.


	13. it's okay as long as i've got you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I emerge alive with a new chapter in my hands. This chapter...wowie zowie, I wanted so badly for it to be good and to nail the subject that I ended up way too in my head and nothing happened at all :'D Hopefully we're past all that nonsense, so we can enjoy the sweet cuddlerific chapters ahead.

Claire had one day to savor her night with Matt. One day to soak in the warmth of comfortable sheets and another person beneath her fingertips. Claire may have been at best a quarter conscious, but she had felt Matt's honest adoration as he held her close.

And she had felt his hesitation. Matt had lingered at the corners of their makeshift bed, afraid to commit or afraid to believe that this was allowed. She hadn't thought much of it in the moment, but looking back, he had been stalling, trying to buy himself time to decide what to do. It reminded Claire of his request to know if touching her was acceptable. Matt was so willing to second guess himself in this relationship, ready to believe he had made some mistake, that he was inherently _not good enough_ to be with her.

But there was also the sweetness of his trust as they slept together, got up, and ate breakfast. Claire had a cottony happiness in her chest all the next day, fuzzy and light and beautiful.

Going into work a day later poked a hole in a bit of that happiness. Blood and stupidity often had that effect on the bubbly, impractical side of her.

First thing she had to deal with were a couple of gangbangers wheeled in after textbook toxic masculinity resulted in a shootout. Those kinds of injuries were _officially_ Claire's least favorite, to the point that Claire sometimes wished Matt could take his Daredeviling into overdrive and eliminate gun violence altogether. Then again, that sort of micromanaging would likely require him to become a domineering crime boss, which was a no go. Also to kill himself from exhaustion, which was even _more_ of a no go.

But that was both their burden, she supposed. Neither one of them _stopped_ the problem; she didn't keep people from getting hurt, and he didn't prevent people from hurting others. They were the best and worst kind of reactive force, because they could not stem the flow.

"Hey, Claire, can you take care of the girl that just came in?" another nurse, Skylar, asked. He was possibly the sweetest person Claire knew, and almost assuredly too nice for Hell's Kitchen. She looked up from her yogurt to where he had poked his head into the break room.

"Yeah, I can take her," she said, pushing back her chair. She threw her empty cup in the trash and walked over to him.

"She's in bed number five. Came in with what I think is a broken rib. I'd take care of her, but my daughter's getting out of school soon, and my wife's out of town…"

"Yeah, sure, no problem. Go get your little girl," Claire said, waving him off. Skylar grinned and clapped her on the shoulder, then left to the lockers.

Claire walked back into the ER, ignoring the complaints of Idiot Gangbanger Number One about how he wanted them to plug in his iPod so he could listen to Drake.

"Alright, Emily," Claire said, consulting her chart. "You…fell down the front steps of your apartment?"

"Yeah," the girl said. She looked Polynesian, with her hair cropped into a shaggy pixie cut. Claire could barely see her eyes beneath the bangs. "Jacked up my side pretty good."

"Could you let me see?" Claire asked, drawing the curtain around her bed.

Emily grimaced as she shrugged out of her jacket. Claire stepped over and lifted her shirt.

Sometimes, even after all the years of damage and harm Claire had seen the human body take, there were some injuries that hit her with fresh force. Emily's side was mottled purple, with edges of green and yellow creeping along the sides. Something that ugly _had_ to be hiding at least a cracked rib.

"It hurts to breathe," Emily said, her voice softening a little.

"It probably hurts to do _everything,_ " Claire murmured, thinking of how her own cracked ribs had felt like hellfire pressed under her skin. Emily flashed her an appreciative smile but didn't say anything.

Claire glanced back at Emily as she let her shirt go. There was a bruise on Emily's cheek. Not dark like the one on her side, but faded like it had happened a few days ago.

"Are there any other injuries?" Claire asked. "Banged up elbow, twisted ankle, anything?"

"Nah, just normal bumps and bruises. I was just worried about my ribs," Emily said, surprisingly breezy about falling down the steps. Claire chewed her cheek.

"Alright, you're going to need x-rays for me to tell if there's any damage to your actual ribs," Claire said. "How'd you get here, by the way? Someone drop you off?"

"No, I took the train."

Claire raised an eyebrow. Emily brushed some hair behind her ear, then flinched in pain. Her wrist had a bracelet of bruises around it.

_Please, God, not this._

"Are you sure your ribs are the only thing?" she asked delicately. "That wrist of yours looks pretty bad."

"Oh, that. Uhm, yeah, I guess, but doesn't hurt to use or anything."

Claire looked at her for a long moment. "I don't think you fell down the stairs."

Emily stared at her, flinching again at the words. She grimaced in pain, eyes shifty as she glanced at Claire. Then she curled her lip in an impressive sneer, and demanded "Were you _there_ to see me fall down those steps?"

Claire set her jaw. She was too damn tired to play this game.

Emily kept talking, unsettled by Claire's silence. "Look, I'm a klutz, alright? Just fix me up and get me outta here. Shit, you're acting like my mom or something."

"Emily," Claire repeated, "I am not by law a mandatory reporter. Nothing you tell me will necessarily be acted on. But the hospital does have resources, if you need—"

" _Look,_ it was Daredevil, okay?"

"—anything—wait _what_?"

" _Daredevil._ He wrecked my shit earlier. I didn't wanna say anything, because I was into some shady stuff."

Claire stared at her. Oh _hell_ no. This girl did _not_ just use Claire's boyfriend as some damn patsy for her abuse.

" _Daredevil_ gave you that nightmare on your side," Claire said. The disbelief in her voice could have given Emily another blunt force injury.

"Yeah."

"And the one on your hand? Or the one on your face?"

Emily shifted, her smugness fading with every word.

"See, a lot of guys have come through here after rumbling with the Devil of Hell's Kitchen. Broken hands, dislocated limbs, cracked skulls, _really_ nasty stuff. Months of _physical therapy_ ugly. And usually, they don't come back often enough to let their bruises fade. _So,_ knowing all that, do you _really_ wanna keep blaming him when we _both_ know that's not the case?"

Emily stared at the floor and didn't say anything. Claire rocked aback on her heels. "I'll go get those x-rays," she muttered, pulling back the curtain.

Claire managed to walk all the way out of the ER before she had to stop and physically keep herself from shaking.

She knew anyone in the public eye for something as dubious as _violence_ was an easy fall guy. If nothing else, she had learned that after Fisk pinned the bombings squarely on Matt. But that was big stuff. Matt had invited that sort of underhanded trickery when he kicked the hornet's nest. Claire had _never_ imagined he would be used for more selfish reasons, more shameful reasons. More my-boyfriend-is-a-piece-of-shit-and-I'm-too-stupid-to-leave reasons.

Claire grimaced and put a hand over her face. No, that wasn't right. Claire couldn't cheapen what Emily was going through just because she was pissed Matt had been dragged into this.

The rest of the day was a blur. Not the cute, warm-fuzzies blur of earlier, or even the productive working blur. Just the tense anxiety blur that didn't let her think of anything else. The worst bit was that Claire couldn't really tell _why_ she was so upset. Emily had lied about domestic abuse, yes, that was horrible. Horrible stared Claire in the face at least once a week. But this stayed with her, twisting her gut and making her want to yell or choke back a sob. There was just something so fundamentally wrong, so grossly _unfair_ about the whole thing, and it ate at her inside.

Soledad was all excited chatter when Claire called after work. Even though Claire called her mother multiple times a week (when she didn't out and out visit her), Soledad was always delighted to hear her daughter's voice.

"How are things?" she asked. Claire had to focus a second to sort out her mother's words from the blend of English, Spanish, and clattering dishes in the background. She was probably at the cafe, then.

"Okay. Not great. I wanted to ask you something."

Claire tapped the back of her fork on her placemat, preparing herself to make the plunge. Soledad had heard little crumbs of Claire's relationship with Matt, but never anything concrete. It was an unfortunate byproduct of the hellacious rollercoaster that had been the first few months (vast majority) of their relationship. It was also a point of deep consternation on Soledad's part. Then again, it hadn't been an accident Claire had chosen the ever supportive Nikki as her confidant all those weeks, not her ever opinionated mother.

"Mm? What's the matter?"

"I dunno, just…some things were said about Matt today and they just got to me."

"Matt? The _boyfriend_ Matt?

"Yeah."

"What was it?"

"Just…someone blamed him for something, or I guess not _him,_ but made a blanket statement that caught me off guard and I just…I dunno. I've been thinking about it all day."

"You could not have been more vague if I paid you."

Claire groaned through her nose, reconsidering her choice to call. She opened her mouth, trying to think of what to say.

"Some girl at work said it was…lawyers' fault for something, something totally _not_ true."

"He's a _lawyer?"_

" _Mom._ Yes. Please."

"Okay, sorry, go on."

"Anyways, she said this thing and I clocked her on it, but I can't get what she said out of my head."

"Do you believe it?"

"No, it was some junk like lawyers are just out to bleed people dry. Doesn't matter," she said quickly, hoping she could herd her mother away from the lie. She wasn't about to get invested in a made up offense as well as a real one.

"But…you're still upset."

" _Yes,_ I just—where's she get off talking crap about _my_ boyfriend?"

"Did she actually _know_ your boyfriend was a lawyer?" Soledad sniffed, her compassion muffled underneath the unspoken ' _I certainly hope you didn't tell_ her _before you told_ me…'

" _No,_ but I just—I don't know, I'm grumpy and want to rant!"

"Then rant, honey. I'll be quiet."

"I _can't_ ," she groaned. "I don't even have the words. I don't even know why I'm bothered." Claire picked at a scuff mark on her knee. "I guess I'm less mad and more hurt, you know?"

It hurt to hear someone carelessly sling blame on Matt. He carried too much suffering on his shoulders as it was for Claire to let some stranger muddy his name even more. They had come too far for her to stand aside.

But she would have to, Claire realized. Until the world knew Matthew Murdock was the Devil of Hell's Kitchen, Claire would always have to lie, stay silent, and keep secrets for as long as she knew him. Claire would _never_ be able to set the record straight.

"He…he's trying _really_ hard, and it just hurt to hear someone cheapen that."

And it unsettled her to realize that, under a different set of circumstances, Claire was fine with someone suffering the trauma that was a tussle with Daredevil. Emily's shitty boyfriend or whatever, for example, she was _totally_ okay with being curb stomped. Which had some pretty bad implications, considering her status as a decent human being, not to mention nurse.

"It sounds like there's something a little more at work here," Soledad said, perceptive as always. Claire rested her head in her hand, appreciating the way her mother's voice softened the exact way she needed it to.

"Did you and Dad even have something like this?" she asked.

"Oh no," Soledad sighed. "Usually, when people told us when we were doing something wrong, they gave us a very detailed outline and the exact course we needed to correct it. But it helped to talk about it."

"I _am_ and it _sucks._ "

"With _him,_ honey."

Claire hunched her shoulders. That didn't at all sound like the conversation she wanted to have.

"That's a lot of silence there," her mother observed.

Claire scowled at her plate.

"Okay, fine. Is _he_ going to get mad about it, like you did?"

"No, probably not," Claire grumbled. Matt would likely zero in on the piece-of-shit boyfriend, rather than the injustice done to his name. It wasn't that slander rolled off his back so much as he whole-heartedly expected and believed he deserved it. "But that…sounds like an awkward conversation."

"You can't stay in the puppy love stage forever."

"But that's the _nice_ part." Not to mention it had taken so much damn work to get there in the _first_ place. If two people could even _have_ puppy love after interrogating mobsters and being kidnapped. Honestly, the best description of their relationship was probably 'grizzled dedication with a side of kissing'.

Which unfortunately (and maybe thankfully) meant it was a conversation Claire was fully equipped to handle.

* * *

Matt's couch was quickly becoming once of Claire's favorite places in the entire apartment. It was a little larger than most couches (certainly larger than hers), and just big enough for cuddling. Which, Claire was learning, happened to be one of Matt's favorite pastimes.

She had come over after he got off work and flopped onto his couch. It had taken maybe two minutes for him to slink over and lay down beside her.

Claire couldn't help but smile at the expert delicacy he used to nestle in between her and the cushions, his legs wrapped up with hers, his cheek on her collarbone. Whatever hesitations he had had before they spent the night at her place were completely and perfectly gone.

He settled into her as she smoothed her hand over his hair. Claire closed her eyes. The last time they had laid together on this couch, she'd nearly given herself an ulcer from anxiety. Then she had been consumed with the thought that she would never be able to have a cute, buttery happiness with Matt. Now she knew she was delightfully, deliciously wrong.

"Are you asleep?" Matt mumbled when she stopped stroking his hair.

"No."

"What are you thinking about?"

"Lots of stuff."

He smiled then stretched, and for a moment he was nothing but limbs. Then he settled back, hands smoothing over Claire's sides.

"When do you have to go to work?" he asked.

Claire sighed and wedged her phone from her back pocket. "In…a few hours. We're good."

Matt gave a non-committal grunt that _clearly_ said a few hours was never enough. Claire grinned, thinking it was hard to value antiseptic and foolishness over Matt being the sweetest he could be.

As if he could hear her, Matt turned his head and placed a row of tiny kisses along her collarbone. Claire shivered as he reached her sternum, his scruff barely catching on her skin.

Matt hauled himself up a little further to kiss her on the mouth. Claire ran her hands over his back, giving herself a second to enjoy every muscle stretching and flexing to keep him upright. Their legs tangled together, socked feet toying with each other.

Claire laughed as Matt kissed her ear, his scruff going from barely scratchy to extremely tickly. She squirmed a little and put her hands on his face to keep him from kissing her more.

Matt wore an expression of almost sleepy contentedness as she peered up at him. His eyes were half-lidded, and he smiled as he rested his face in one of her hands.

Claire hugged him to her, suddenly so immensely grateful things had turned out okay.

They stayed like that for a moment before the memory of the girl's accusation against Matt rose in her head. She scowled as annoyance curdled the sunshiney happiness in her belly. It took a concentrated power of will not to clench her fingers into the back of Matt's shirt.

"What's that about?" he asked, propping himself onto his elbows.

Claire's face heated with embarrassment at the dampened moment. She glared at the ceiling, wondering what physical response had given her away. She didn't actually know if she wanted to have this discussion. Well, she _knew_ she didn't, but she was unsure if it was the right time to do it anyway.

"Oh, I just—I dunno, a girl came into the ER the other day with some shitty story about why she was so hurt."

Matt's eyebrows furrowed. "Is she okay?"

"I _guess._ I mean, _clearly_ something's wrong if she thinks she can keep—"

She pursed her lips and tried again.

"Yes, she left that day. But her story just—it was whack and I can't get it out of my head." Claire gave herself five seconds to back out, then said, "She blamed you."

She stared at Matt, waiting in strained silence for his response. Matt's face closed off in a different way than she was used to, quiet and considerate and maybe a little heartbroken. He didn't pull away from her, for which she was thankful. Instead he froze, still bracing himself on his elbows.

"What did she say?" he asked.

"That you were the one who cracked her ribs. Made up this whole story about how she was dealing drugs or something to cover the fact it was probably her piece of shit boyfriend."

Claire examined his face, searching for the slightest micro-expression to give her a hint at what he was feeling. But for once, Matt's face gave nothing away. He considered her statement for a moment, eyes almost closed.

"I probably shouldn't have brought it up," she whispered.

He cracked a wry smile. "I probably shouldn't have asked."

"But…but I think this is something we should talk about."

Matt's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "You _want_ to talk about how this girl is probably a textbook case of abuse?"

"No, well—that's sad, absolutely, the whole situation sucks—but it finally pointed out that I'm going to have to _deal_ with this on a personal level. _Daredevil_ isn't just a crazy guy I read about in the papers, he's…" Claire trailed off, gesturing at Matt laying on top of her, hands still braced against her sides. "We can't just _tiptoe_ around it, y'know? Part of that whole being honest with each other thing. And…this is really big."

Matt stared at her, or rather, frowned at her for a long moment before shifting aside. He was still cuddling her, but had taken the weight off his elbows.

"Why…should _we_ talk about this, though?"

"We haven't talked about _Daredevil_ and what that means for you," she told him. Those few times when she chewed him out in the early days while sewing up his myriad of injuries didn't count, because Matt hadn't actually been listening.

Claire brushed a strand of hair from his forehead. Her stomach flipped when he didn't turn away, when he showed he was willing to listen _now._ Progress came in all shapes and sizes.

It almost reminded her of their last meeting before she left the city. Matt had been broken down enough to at least hear what she was saying, to acknowledge the reckless path of destruction he had doomed himself to if he never changed. And he seemed to recognize her words as an act of love, not piety.

"Where do we start?" he whispered.

"Well…do you think about being the scapegoat of people's problems?"

He shrugged, a line of tensions rising in his shoulders. "No. But—it makes sense, in a way."

Claire didn't say anything. It made sense that people would blame the very public, very violent, and very impersonal figure for their problems. Tony Stark had been the world's whipping boy after the crazies started crawling out of the woodwork with fantastic and terrifying plans for destruction. Then it had been SHIELD, after their meltdown on the internet. Daredevil got off easy with only one _neighborhood_ to contend with, but he still faced the blowback every day.

"Does it _bother_ you, though?" she asked.

Matt let out a long, slow breath through his nose. "It's not like I don't _earn_ this, some of the time."

Claire bit her cheek. Here were the scary bits that made these conversations so tough. Her stomach wound itself into knots every time she connected Matt with the shattered bones and months of physical therapy that were wheeled into the ER. That was bad enough. But there was also the self-doubt and tenuous, impossibly persistent belief that he, Matt Murdock, had done or believed or was inherently something wrong.

"I think that's another can of worms entirely," Claire said after a deep breath. She had _no_ intentions for them to get lost down their respective rabbit holes of subjective beliefs.

Matt turned his head, laying his other cheek on her chest. It was less an act of turning away and more one of offering himself completely.

"What do you want me to say?" he murmured.

"What you really feel."

He sighed like that wasn't what he'd wanted her to say.

Matt was quiet for a moment, then said, "I just—it _does_ kinda feel like my fault. If I'd caught whoever _did_ do that, then she…"

"You're not responsible for _every_ bad thing in this neighborhood," Claire said sternly.

He shrugged, a tiny nudge against her chest. Claire pursed her lips.

Matt traced a tiny circle into her shoulder with his finger, a motion pretty in its smallness. Claire wrapped her arms around him a little tighter. He may have been the hellish Daredevil, and the tough, sarcastic Matt Murdock, but he was also the gentle, heartsore Matthew. He ached for the world in a way Claire couldn't quite understand.

Didn't understand, she amended. She very much _wanted_ to know what he felt, if only so she could offer the right sort of comfort in return.

"You realize no one is expecting _you_ to save everyone, right?"

"I'm not trying to save everyone," he said, stubborn but with no heat. "Just—just the people I can reach."

"And it never feels like enough," Claire said.

Matt didn't say anything, simply kept tracing the circle on her shoulder. Infinity, stability, simplicity. Everything his life didn't offer.

"I just want to make a difference," Matt mumbled, almost too low to hear.

"I know," Claire said. "And I know that the way you've chosen to do it leaves you open to be lied about, misunderstood, and blamed. But Matt," she said, taking his face in her hands again, "just promise me _you_ won't blame yourself for the bad things that happen."

"And if they're my fault?" he asked. His eyes were aimed at her neck, not even pretending to find her.

"I guess that's up for future debate," Claire conceded. She knew couldn't just _force_ Matt into agreeing with her, simple as that would have been. They both needed time.

Matt cracked a slight smile, tired and concerned and sweet. He turned his head and kissed her wrist, then leaned into her hand, like he could lock in his silent thank you.

"You know, we could have just spent this time kissing," he pointed out, the slightest amount of grump in his voice. She laughed and let go of his face. He grinned at her, hands sliding under her, fingers spread flat against her back.

"Yeah, that would have been lighter," she agreed. "But we _do_ have to talk _sometime._ We can't just kiss forever."

"I'm not asking for _forever,_ " he said, giving her a cheeky smile. And that was it, that was all it took for Matt's fragile heart to be tucked away behind his infallible armor.

Claire let Matt kiss her, lazy and lovely. It lasted for a few long moments, teeth just barely tugging on her bottom lip. Then she pulled back and gave him three quick kisses, each no more than a peck on the lips.

"Alright, hop up, I've gotta go."

"What?" he asked, a little deflated as she slid out from under him. "You said we had _hours._ "

"No, I said _I_ had hours to use as I wanted. Including going to the store, because I'm literally down to freezer waffles and juice. I do, Mr. Murdock, in fact have a life outside of this couch."

" _Why_?" he asked, pushing himself upright.

"Because I like to tease you."

He made an exasperated noise in the back of his throat as Claire collected her keys and coat from the counter. She smiled and walked back to the couch.

"Take it easy tonight, okay? I don't need the ER flooded with punks tonight."

Matt grunted something that was distinctly not a promise, making Claire's smirk turn a little more wry.

She kissed his forehead over the back of the couch, saying, "Alright. Bye, I love you."

"Good-bye, Claire," Matt grumbled, but she could see the smile on his face as she left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never feel so fulfilled as when Matt and Claire cuddle.


	14. listen, lovely

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i feel like a man reborn as i update this.
> 
> also ngl i'm lowkey bitter posting this after defenders because WE COULD HAVE HAD IT ALL.
> 
> also also there's a pablo neruda quote hidden in the chapter. snaps if you can find it.

"So, tell me, Matt," Claire began, voice a little scattered as it bounced into the kitchen from his couch.

"Mm?"

"Why do you have glittery reindeer antlers on your counter?"

He blinked a few times, surprised by the question. It was Friday, and they had just finished a casual dinner together. Lately, they had fallen into a rhythm of spending time in each other's apartments, some happy medium that offered more physical contact than meeting each other during the day, but less stress than an official date.

" _Oh,_  oh, it's from the office Christmas party," he told Claire, filling his glass from the fridge.

Karen had insisted that he wear them to take part in the Christmas spirit. Foggy had happily picked a Santa hat, while she claimed an elf hat. Matt hadn't been thrilled when she shoved the antlers into his hand, but at least the headband wasn't as obnoxious as the cheap felt the hats were made out of.

"Office party, huh?" Claire asked. "With three people?"

"Foggy is a master socializer," Matt explained. "It wasn't hard to involve people from the whole building."

Claire snorted. Matt grinned as he sipped his water, thinking back on the parade of goodies and guests in one of the open meeting rooms on the third floor. Most everyone had turned up, even the stuffy accountants upstairs.

"I  _so_  hope Foggy took pictures."

"Nooooo," Matt groaned, unable to keep from cracking a smile as he set his cup on the counter.

"Oh, you better believe that's gonna be my contact picture for you, Rudolph."

Matt rolled his eyes as he walked back to the couch. Claire sat in a tidy corner, cruising on her phone. She set it down on when he stopped before her. There was a quiet moment as they examined each other, then she went  _'psst'_ , just soft enough to make him lean closer.

Claire took hold of his tie, barely pinching the fabric between her fingers. She guided him closer, making him brace his hands on the arm rest and back of the couch to keep from falling over.

She gave him a kiss like all the delicate things in the world—milk chocolate and soap bubbles and butterfly wings. He kissed her back, each one a quiet ' _I love you, I love you, I love you._ ' His favorite was the second, because that was when he felt her mouth curve up into a smile.

Matt liked days like these. They held moments that were sleepy and simple, precious for their mundanity. Because that was what his relationship with Claire was: a series of moments. Usually, when Matt dated a girl it was a blur. One moment he noticed they were actually together, and then days, weeks, months later she left and he had to wade through the wreckage.

But Claire didn't  _let_ Matt fall into his usual blissful, borderline obsessive daze. She expected—demanded—that their individual lives keep turning. Matt appreciated the pragmatism, but also delighted in how it made the moments when they  _were_  together far more sweet.

Matt rested a knee beside her on the couch, then straddled her lap. Claire laughed, flavoring her kisses with delight. She put her hands on his hips.

"So," she said after a moment, "what are your Christmas plans?"

"I'm going to celebrate with Foggy's family," he mumbled, brushing his lips against her jaw. He was fine not throwing his entire being into her existence. That didn't mean there had to be any less kissing.

"How's that going to be?"

"Loud," he chuckled. "The Nelson clan are all exactly like him."

Claire laughed and rested her head back into the cushions. Matt smiled against her neck, pleased at how the residual tension in her shoulders slip, slip, slipped away.

He wished he could explore every inch of her skin. He knew it was against the rules, if in spirit and not in actual practice, but Matt longed to run his hands over her. He wanted to trace every curve and plain with his lips, to map every inch of the body that had genuinely and truly saved him. She would enjoy it, if her current reaction was any indicator.

"How come you're not spending the holidays with your family?" Claire asked.

Matt hesitated. "What?"

"Like, does your family live out of town?"

"I—uhm, no—I—both my parents are dead."

"Oh no, I'm sorry," Claire said. Matt fought not to react when she flinched, hands pulling away from his hips. "I didn't mean to throw that in your face."

"No, no it's fine," he said, shaking his head, wishing he could steal the words back, could erase the sudden tension in the air. "My dad died when I was a kid, and my mom…I never got to know her. She wasn't ever really around."

"Who raised you, then?" Claire asked, tilting her head.

"I grew up in an orphanage," Matt said, trying to speak past the growing lump in his throat. If he could just maneuver her away from the subject, they could go back to having a good time and he would be fine.

"Seriously?" Claire's hands still rested on his thighs, a tantalizing reminder that they had  _literally_  had just been kissing. "That's kinda…storybook."

His smile was most kindly described as 'flat'. "I wouldn't have called it that."

It was hard to have the picturesque childhood Claire was undoubtedly thinking of when there were whole chapters involving a traumatic bit of bravery that resulted in him going blind, a persistent bit of maladjustment, and the holy terror that was Stick

Claire was quiet a moment, reading the resistance on his face. She let out a slow breath through her nose as she thought.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked.

Matt swallowed. His whole body clenched at the thought of revealing  _any_ of it, but he would rather eat glass than tell Claire about Stick. She already had a hard time with the things  _Matt_  did to himself. He wasn't ready to push her off a ledge with the austere methods of his old mentor.

"No, not really," he whispered. He grimaced at the strain in his voice.

"Okay." She sat still a moment, hands still on his thighs. Then she slipped her fingers through his. "I'm sorry, I really didn't mean to jump you with this conversation."

"It's okay, really."

His skin crawled even as he said it. He wanted out, he wanted to run from the subject and pretend this hadn't happened. He wasn't prepared to discuss himself, to peel back the many sad layers that composed his being. That only happened on  _his_  terms,  _his_  timeline, when he was certain that everything was absolutely safe.

They sat in silence a moment, Matt still straddling Claire's lap before he had the sense to slip off and sit beside her.

"I'm really batting a hundred with this," Claire sighed. Frustration with herself made her voice ragged. "Two times in a row, I just trash the mood."

Matt squeezed her hand, praying she understood he wasn't mad. "I—uh—I haven't had…a whole ton of practice talking about my family with girls."

"Yeah? How do you get around it?"

"Well, we don't really... _talk_ ," he said awkwardly. That wasn't a subject he was particularly excited to discuss, either.

Claire chuckled and shook her head. "Fair enough, that would do it."

She leaned her head against his shoulder.

"I guess this whole backstory thing would be bumpy for us, anyway," she murmured. "I mean, we've been dating for ages and I still haven't introduced you to my mom."

"What does she think of me?"

"She knows you're a lawyer, that you're polite and kind. But honestly, I think she's more focused on the fact that I haven't given her a whole Wikipedia page on you."

He snorted in spite of himself. Soledad Temple probably wouldn't appreciate her daughter dating someone that had a section entitled 'Known Aliases', much less 'Public Offenses'.

"Do you  _want_  to meet her?" Claire asked.

Matt opened his mouth, but he couldn't breathe, much less speak. After a long moment, he said, "Uh…yeah? I guess?"

"What a vote of confidence," Claire laughed. "I'm not talking  _right away._  Just…soon. Within a month."

He gave a shaky nod, then swallowed hard. Meeting Claire's mother was less terrifying than cracking open his past, but it was still enough to put him on edge.

He couldn't help a flash of annoyance with himself. This shouldn't be so  _hard._  Physical intimacy was a cake walk, even the reduced, more challenging sort they were practicing. Matt could touch Claire a thousand different ways and she would  _always_ know what each one meant. In one kiss, she would know all that he hadn't said.

But the moment Claire needed  _more,_ needed words and explanations and thoughts that were clearly articulated which coincidentally detailed the destruction he had inside, that was the moment he felt himself freeze.

Matt held Claire's hand, traced the bones and tendons under her skin. Claire threw her leg over his lap. It was so easy for her, everything mapped out so perfectly in her head. Claire might have protested and said she was doing a terrible job navigating the difficult subject of their relationship, but she at least could  _read it._  Matt, on the other hand, was completely illiterate.

"Is she like you?" he asked, still absently tracing her hand.

"Mm, I guess. A bit more spitfire-y. Most of my temperament comes from my dad. What about you, you show much resemblance to Daddy Murdock? I mean, you told me once that he's where you learned how to take a hit. What's up there?"

Matt actually laughed, because how was he supposed to explain the madness that was the Murdock men? It waited very patiently, affecting each one in the way he was weakest. Matt's grandfather had started bar fights when he was restless and sick of the world never changing. Matt's father had boxed both men and the odds, even though his record was so pathetic a rational man wouldn't have even tried. And Matt battled his sins on the streets every day with defiance and the conviction that he would make himself better if he made the world better.

There was no logic that could explain them, nothing that would validate their actions outside of their own heads. He knew that better than anyone.

But Claire knew it, a little, a bit, with more grace than any he had ever met.

Matt took a deep breath. "I…I dunno, my dad…he was a good man," he murmured. "Life kicked him in the teeth and he kept on smiling."

"Did he get sick, or…?"

"No. No, he didn't get sick."

Claire was quiet for a long moment, waiting or thinking, he wasn't sure. But she heard the granite in his voice, sensed that the cause of Jack Murdock's death was best left for another day.

Her patience made him love her all the more. Talking wasn't so terrible with a person that didn't leap to  _too_  heinous a conclusion. She knew the shape of his soul, had earned the knowledge from weeks and months of watching and listening and making mistakes.

He wondered if he could say the same about her. Prayed he did, really. Matt had a strong sense of her character, but he barely knew the details of her face.

Claire raised their entwined hands to rub her cheek with her wrist. He hesitated after she put them back down, then lifted his hand again.

"May I?" he whispered, hand so very close to her face. Claire turned to look at him, and he could only guess her expression, could only hope she didn't think it strange.

She was quiet for a beat, then said, "Yeah. Yeah, I guess. Go ahead."

Matt's fingertips found the bridge of her nose, soft as a curl of steam. He swallowed, faced her full on, then touched her again.

Claire's skin was smooth, though it crinkled into a smile as he ghosted down her cheek to her jaw. He traced her ears, her hairline, and ever so gently touched her eyelids. Matt held her face in his hands, then kissed her again.

"I love you," he whispered, the words forming somewhere deep in his soul but only finding shape against her mouth.

Claire smiled as her hands settled on his hips again. "I love you, too," she whispered. "It sounds so easy when we say it like that."

"What's easy?" he asked, tipping his head back.

"Everything," she said, then pulled him into a hug. He didn't hesitate to hug her back. He breathed deep, almost tasting the luscious smell that hung around her skin, forever tantalizing like the touch of midnight and precious secrets.

They stayed there for a while, doing nothing more than breathing and feeling each other's heartbeat.

"You know," Claire murmured, "there was a time when I thought this would never happen.  _We_ could never happen."

"We're both too stubborn for that."

"Yeah, maybe."

Matt closed his eyes, thinking that, somehow, a tiny part of him had always known the vague and ever-changing concept of  _them_ would happen. Even though their current road had been tempestuous when not outright hellacious, Matt had always harbored the tiny belief that somewhere in time, they would meet and try again. But it wasn't until recently that he actually believed, deep in his soul, that they would work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part of the reason it took so long for me to update this was because it felt like I had stalled out, and I was just throwing variations of the same cuddle scenes at you guys. It felt so stagnant, and that was very frustrating because I needed to move us forward to other scenes I had planned out. But now it feels like I've regained the thread of the story, and we have an end goal to reach, rather than simple rehashings of the same snuggle fests ;)


	15. the standard of grace, not perfection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a turning point. On the surface, this chapter looks much the same as the others, but there's a strong undercurrent here that I can't wait to explore.

Claire was having a movie night at Nikki's. Despite Nikki's self-proclaimed 'punk status', one of her favorite pastimes was watching cheesy Bollywoods and stuffing her face with popcorn. They were two-thirds of the way through a movie that Nikki loved and Claire loved to make fun of when Matt called.

"Hello?" Claire said, pressing the phone hard to her ear like that would make Matt's voice any clearer.

"Claire?"

"Yeah, hey, Matt. What's up?" Claire's eyes found a clock as she spoke. It was almost midnight. She couldn't remember him ever calling from his own phone so late before.

Nikki's head swiveled at the mention of Matt's name, eyes brightening. She still had not met Matt, and appeared to live solely so she could suss out further scraps of his existence.

"Can you come over?"

"What do you need? It's kinda late."

Claire waved Nikki away, who had paused the movie and was now making suggestive eyebrow bounces at her.

There was a long pause on Matt's end of the phone. Claire frowned and opened her mouth to ask if he was still there. Then she heard the slightest catch of breath over the other end of the phone. Matt was probably weighing the situation, trying to see if his problem was worthy of disrupting her if it didn't involve him holding his insides in his hands.

"Please, Claire," he whispered, voice catching just the slightest bit. "Just…please, can you come over?"

"Yeah," she said slowly. She started to stand up then remembered Nikki sitting beside her. Claire pressed the phone to her chest, opening her mouth for words she didn't have.

Nikki's expression fell from teasing to concerned. She read the whole conversation in Claire's face, and shook her head at the apology Claire was trying to give. "No, go. Forget me, we've watched this a billion times. Go to Matt."

"I'm so sorry," Claire said, still not sure how she sounded so calm. It wasn't even nurse calm, it was just…empty calm. Something was wrong with Matt, but the situation seemed so odd, so weirdly  _normal_ that she couldn't connect panic to it. There had to be more to this, something severe, something terrible, not Bollywoods and popcorn and quiet phone calls.

She shook her head. "Nikki, I know we said we'd have a girl's night—"

"Claire,  _no._  Seriously. It sounds like he needs you. How far away is he?"

"Half an hour by the train…?"

"Screw that, I'm taking you," Nikki said, pushing herself up from the couch.

"Nikki, no, don't ruin your night."

"It's not ruined, you're more important. He's more important. Get your shoes, homie, and answer your boy on the phone."

Claire opened her mouth to protest, then raised the phone to her ear. "Matt, are you still there?"

"Yes."

"Are you okay?"

"I'm not bleeding."

Claire closed her eyes, because those were  _such_  specific words.

"Okay. I'll be there in ten, alright?"

"Yeah, okay."

Claire hung up the phone as Nikki returned to the room, now wearing an enormous sweatshirt and shoes. Claire grabbed her overnight bag, then jammed her feet into her own pair of sneakers.

"Is he alright?" Nikki asked, leading them out the door.

"I don't know," Claire murmured.

Nikki gave her a hard look, but nodded. "If you need anything, you call, okay? I'm here for you, too."

Claire forced a thin smile, but didn't say anything.

They were quiet as Nikki drove them to Matt's apartment. The radio murmured in the background, dull and meaningless in the face of Claire's worries. She wished she hadn't hung up with him. She wanted to know exactly what he was doing, exactly what he was feeling right up until she walked through his door. Not that talking over the phone would do much. Phones did no justice to a man who lived through half-truths and silent gestures.

And there was the chance that the longer they talked, the more Matt would convince himself that he didn't need her, and Claire would honestly die if he turned her away now.

Claire nearly launched herself out of the car when Nikki pulled up to the curb.

"Keep me posted!" Nikki called as Claire swung the door shut. Claire threw up a hand in acknowledgement, already jogging toward the building. All she could think of was the break in Matt's voice, the long pause before he pleaded for her to come.

She climbed the stairs three at a time, not caring that she would arrive out of breath. She knocked on his door, waited a long moment, then tried the handle. It swung open, either a thoughtful gesture or a terrible omen.

Claire shook her head hard and closed the door after her.

"Matt?" she called.

"One second," Matt called from his room, voice still so horribly flat. It wasn't exhausted or resigned or angry. Just…beaten down. It had the faintest rustlings of before she had left the city, when he had been drowning in the horror of Fisk and she didn't have the strength to be his lifeboat.

Matt's apartment was almost eerie in the dark, with only the haunting glow of the billboard next door to offer light. The pictures shifted and danced, mocking in their shades of yellow and pink.

Claire turned the lights on with an aggressive click.

Her assumption that Matt wasn't hurt proved to be correct as she looked around the room. There was no horrifying trail of blood, Matt's suit wasn't discarded haphazardly on the floor, and nothing was broken. Nothing, in fact, seemed the least bit out of shape.

"Matthew?" she called, stomach twisting itself into ever tighter knots. "Matthew, what's wrong?"

The shower switched off, a sound she didn't notice until it was gone. She stood in silence for a moment, pretending she could hear the  _drip drip_  of the shower head. Claire closed her eyes when she felt Matt give a slow sigh.

"What can I do for you, Matt?" she asked. She wanted to shout the question, wanted the tearing release of anger after her mad scramble to go help. But there was something about the terrible stillness of his apartment that demanded she be soft.

"Uhm…there's some tea on the shelf," he called, voice empty and disconnected, like he wasn't really aware of speaking.

Claire stood there in his living room, heart thumping out the seconds. More than a little bit of her wanted to barge into his bathroom and demand what,  _what_  was wrong, let her help, she was there to  _help him._  She wasn't there to be relegated to  _tea patrol._

She clenched her teeth. Loud noises and sudden movements frightened, shy creatures. She had to hold herself in check.

"Do you have a particular  _flavor_  in mind?" she asked, praying he didn't hear her bite as she gave him one last chance to let her in.

"No," his voice said, ghostly as it floated from some place she couldn't see.

Claire dropped her bag into a chair, then stalked to the kitchen. She flicked on his electric kettle as she passed. It took her a couple tries, but she found his tea boxes, a whole cabinet of kind earth tones and soothing pictures. Claire riffled through, then settled on chamomile. It was silly and probably wouldn't matter, but anything to help them stay relaxed always sounded good to her.

Claire picked through the cabinets and drawers, looking for spoons and honey. When she had those, she went ahead and grabbed the milk to keep from being still with her thoughts.

The kettle gaze a dry wheeze, the prologue to a real whistle. She clicked it off and poured herself a cup. Claire scowled at her mug as she added honey and milk to it. On impulse, she carried everything to the table, another attempt to whittle away the time until Matt made an appearance. The apartment was quiet around her, except for the ragged clink of her spoon in her mug.

"Sorry, didn't mean to keep you waiting."

Claire jumped, spoon almost flying from her hand. She huffed out a laugh as she turned to find him in the doorway to his room, like she could smile away Matt's apologetic grimace.

"No, it's fine," she said. She looked him over as she spoke, uncertain worry solidifying into unhappy truths.

Matt looked like he had just stepped from the shower, though she couldn't imagine what he'd been doing in the eons between turning off the water and appearing beside her. He wore only a towel, the tidy dark grey fabric wrapped tightly around his hips. His hair was damp and a little spiky from where he'd dried it, and though he was too far away to tell just yet, she had the suspicion that there were bags under his eyes. And, of course, he had his hollow smile on, the one that went with devastated apologies and a lowered head.

"What'd you pick?" he asked, head tilting as he crept deeper into the room.

"Chamomile," she said. "Your mug's on the counter, but everything else is here."

He nodded, mouth set in that purposeful way that meant he was biting back every single other thing he wanted to say. Claire clenched her fingers into her mug. Even though his body was miraculously free of blood and bruises, his mind clearly had turned into a warzone.

"I'm surprised you got here so fast," he said.

"I was at Nikki's," she said. "We were having a girl's night."

His expression instantly folded into guilt. He tilted his face away, but his hands continued to fidget with his mug.

"Oh," he murmured. "I didn't realize I—I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It just meant I have an overnight bag, if need be."

The corners of his mouth lifted, but his eyebrows stayed crunched in regret.

Claire waited a long moment, watching him, counting the seconds. She bit her cheek. She knew that waiting and letting Matt think wouldn't resolve anything. He'd simply get caught in a thought spiral, tumbling farther down and down into a pit of self-condemnation. But if she started pushing, Claire knew she wouldn't stop, and honestly Matt wouldn't survive the fall if she pushed him over.

"I'm not mad you called, Matt," she said, because sometimes the obvious needed to be said.

He lifted his head too fast to be real, sucking in a breath like he could make her forget his unhappiness if he just swallowed it. He gave her another damn smile. "Yeah, yeah, no, I know. You said the honey was over there, right?"

"Yeah," she said. She took another sip to keep from saying something unkind.

Matt walked toward the table. His mug was held like an afterthought, a little too loose and a little too far from his body.

He stopped just in front of her, close enough to put his mug down, close enough for her to feel the echo of heat from his skin. The air thickened between them, turning heavier with all the words they did not say, the things they did not do.

Claire stood up, mumbling something about putting the milk away if he didn't want it. She didn't want to sit there and let him  _not say_ what was wrong. She stopped after she stood up, though, staring him down and daring him to let this continue.

He stayed quiet. His whole body was restless, like his thoughts were running around under his skin, begging to be loosed.

"Why did you ask me to come?" Claire finally asked.

He raised his face to her, that insincere smile returning to his lips. "Did you never consider that this could be a booty call?"

She'd seen him do this a dozen times, and yet it still felt like a punch in the gut. Bravado masking the unruly pain and doubt, because lying was infinitely preferable to admitting the pain and doubt he was really feeling. And yet, it made it even more obvious that he was still just a tragic boy with a scared body and a weeping heart.

Claire looked at him for a long moment, too tired and tense to entertain his game of pretend.

"It's a thought." Her voice was flat as the edge of a cliff.

Matt's smile fractured a little. He hesitated, then stepped closer. She held her breath, foolishly thinking for a moment that he would whisper those dangerous secrets about what he was truly feeling, but no. Instead Matt tilted his face away from hers, determined to never let her know the truth.

She pulled in a slow, agonizing breath and fought not to dig her fingernails into the table.

Claire looked down when he reached past her for the honey, his arm brushing her side. He fumbled with it for a second before she turned and placed her hands over his. He kept struggling, but she guided his fingers and snapped it open.

Matt kissed her. It was an apology of a thing, his actions attempting to be far, far more than his wounded words. She let him, because this was hard for both of them. Claire didn't like being useless, and Matt didn't like being helpless.

He guided the honey back to the table, freeing the space between them. He kissed her deeper, his hands finding her hip, splaying out, taking up as much space as possible, anchoring himself or claiming her or affirming that she was real.

Matt's whole body was pressed against her, muscles tight from the fervor in his head. Claire stumbled back into the table, the edge hitting her legs. She grabbed hold of him, pressing them even closer. He clung to her, teeth finding her lip, needy and tantalizing and the possible beginnings of something sinfully good and also the sign of all the terrible things that could be.

Claire stopped at the taste of Matt's terror. It made her heart skip, the sickening thud of realization that he again was trying to bury what he felt. She had come there to help, not to let him kiss her out of pain rather than pleasure. She turned her head away, and he kissed down her neck, fast, burning things that were more of a plea to not stop than a declaration of love.

"Matt," she said, shaking her head, hands braced against his shoulders.

His kisses hitched, turning slower, sadder, open-mouthed and desperate.

"Matt," she repeated.

He petered out, mouth at the crook of her neck. His breathing was heavy, great huffs against her collarbone that confessed all his sins. His body curved against hers like the link of a chain, rigid and without any sweetness at all.

"I know," he whispered. "I know, I—"

Claire pressed her hand against his neck, not sure if she was supposed to comfort or push him away.

He didn't give her a chance. He stumbled back, hands still held out like he wasn't sure what to do when not holding her. Matt shook his head, a new kind of fervor gripping him as he muttered another apology.

Claire stepped forward, but he was already walking fast to his bedroom. She watched him disappear. As she leaned back against the table, she felt something sharp jostle in her chest, a broken rib, maybe, or her broken heart.

She did not yell or throw things or show in any way how painful it was to see Matt torn open like this. She kept it together, because that was what they did. When one of them broke apart, the other stood tall and carried them both.

It still hurt like a bitch, though.

The floor creaked across the room. Claire glanced over her shoulder to see Matt. He had changed into sweats and a dark t-shirt. They didn't say anything as he walked back toward her, settled a foot away. Claire kept her back to him, waiting, waiting.

"I'm sorry," he murmured. "I…"

Matt sighed. He took a step closer, and she could imagine his mouth ghosting through the words he knew he was supposed to say.

He stopped right behind her. She could feel him again, his thighs just touching hers. His breath barely touched the skin of her neck, making her hair prickle. He sighed again, hesitated, then inhaled like he was fighting to make up his mind. Then he pressed his face into her neck.

It wasn't a kiss, this time. It was an act of defeat, of resignation, of trust.

Matt wrapped his arms around her waist, his cheek pressed against hers.

"Today's been so terrible, and I just—" He let out a shuddery breath. "I don't know what to do. I made it worse."

Claire settled her hands over his, and leaned back into his chest. "We can talk about it, or we can do something else," she offered.

"I thought I was supposed to tell you everything," he said, the tiniest, saddest laugh in his voice.

"Not right away," she countered. "Only when you're ready."

He was quiet for an agonizing amount of time. Claire focused on his breathing, waiting to see if it would catch, if he would try to begin. But he just sighed and turned his face so that his nose was touching her cheek.

"Thank you for coming," he whispered.

"It's my pleasure."

"Thank you for staying."

"It feels kinda like the same thing."

She could almost feel him swallow, could almost feel the tense moment of confession as she placed value on something he found so weak. But Matt didn't run or protest or do anything to break the moment like he might have months ago, moments ago.

"You should drink your tea before it's cold," she murmured.

"Okay."

"You wanna sit?"

"Yeah, sure."

He didn't move away. Claire leaned her head back onto his shoulder. "We can sit together, if you want."

"That—that sounds good."

He let go of her, then stepped away when he was sure she wouldn't fall. Claire waited, expecting him to walk to the couch or the easy chair, but he instead sat at the table. He sat with arms open, cup of tea held loosely in one hand.

Claire considered all her rules and expectations and moments of better judgement. She knew what he was asking, knew that he was hoping she would stay close and let him hold her, even after the fiasco of whatever it was that had just happened. She also knew both options had not inconsiderable costs.

If she sat on his lap, she could be inviting more trouble, more kisses and touches and pressure on the no sex rule. If she left him alone, he might pull back into himself, make it that much harder to help, make it that much harder to chip through the walls that someone had forced around softer parts of his heart.

Claire sat on his lap. Matt's arms fit snugly around her waist like they always belonged there. She leaned into him, his forehead resting against her cheek. They curled into each other, shrinking away from the difficulties of the outside world.

The colder parts of Claire whispered that they couldn't keep doing this, couldn't keep patching up hard moments with intimate ones and then dealing with it all later, but there wasn't much else for her to do when Matt clutched her like she was the only safe thing in this world.

"I'm sorry," he whispered into her neck, the words spooling out across her skin and making her want to shiver and cry at once. "Claire, I'm so, so sorry."

She didn't know what to say. Not  _'it's okay',_  or ' _I'm fine'_ , or ' _don't worry about it',_  because it wasn't okay and she wasn't fine and he  _should_  worry about it. Matt was wrong and she shouldn't and wouldn't excuse him for it. But she didn't have words, so she didn't try to give him any. Instead, Claire rested her head against his and pressed her hand against his face. Words went far with Matt, but actions went so much farther.

They did not speak after that. Claire was still dying to ask her questions, dying to know what blackened secrets Matt held so close to his chest, but they had earned silence just then, not secrets. Those would come later.

Matt finished his tea quickly, setting it aside before Claire was halfway through with hers. He didn't say anything, simply nuzzled into her further. When Claire finished her tea, he mumbled, "Are you gonna stay?"

"I think that's a good idea." She ran her thumb over his cheek. "You ready for bed?" she whispered. He grunted low in his throat, but didn't move.

"Come on," she said, putting her mug down and picking his arms away from her. "Time to sleep."

She helped him up and they carried their mugs to the sink and turned off the lights. Matt kept his eyes down as they walked, his fingers finding the hem of her shirt. It was the slightest touch, not even a pinch of the fabric, really, something unobtrusive to either stay close or be closer to her.

Claire didn't comment as she grabbed her bag and walked him to the bedroom. Matt let go and drifted to the perfectly made bed. His hair flopped low over his forehead, making him look both young and woefully disheveled, like the thing that kept him clinically neat had broken.

"I'm gonna change real quick, okay?" she asked. He sat down on the corner and gave a heavy nod.

Claire stepped closer, edging into the space between his spread legs. She brushed the hair back from his forehead, making him both tilt his head up at her and lean his face into her hand.

"We can go to bed when I'm done, okay?"

"Okay," he said, the word barely making a sound. Claire smiled and kissed his forehead.

She walked to the bathroom and changed fast, then washed off her makeup. It wasn't like Matt was going to care about any smudges under her eyes, but something about the moment, that whole night, really, demanded that she go through all the steps, take all the care that she was supposed to.

She studied her face as she brushed her teeth. She looked tired, but she could handle this. She'd done worse. She had always done worse.

Claire left the bathroom to find Matt in the same place.

"Still here?" she asked, setting her bag down by the nightstand. Matt tracked her as she came closer, head turning to follow her with that same exhausted, hollow look as before.

She stopped in front of him again. Claire considered him a long moment, then asked, "What's the matter, Matt?"

He swallowed and turned his head away. Claire let out another breath. She put her hands on his shoulders.

"Do I at least get a good night kiss?" she asked, choosing to not count his frantic kisses from earlier.

Matt's mouth twitched into something like a smile. "You're not afraid I might do something indecent?"

"If you do, I'll put salt in your coffee tomorrow."

He cracked a full smile and put his hand on her hip. For a moment, his expression looked lost, his fingertips tracing tiny circles into the soft fabric of her pajama pants. Then he pulled her into a hug, his face hidden against her stomach.

Claire blinked at him, then shifted her hands to his back. She rubbed circles of her own into his shoulders, praying that she was doing right, that she wasn't making completely the wrong choice.

"It's just been…a  _real_  shitty night," Matt muttered.

Claire fought not to let her circles slow. Matt was quiet for another long pause, his hands tightening into fists against her back.

"There's this gang I've been fighting, and they keep holding out and tonight I found they weren't just into drugs, they were also  _sex_  trafficking, and—" The words caught in his throat for a moment before "They had kids."

Claire closed her eyes. "Did you stop them?"

"Yeah. But if I'd been serious about stopping them  _sooner—"_  He cut himself off, jaw working against the words. "Never mind, never mind you don't need to hear it."

"Does talking about it help?"

"I don't know." The words were too flat for her to tell if he was lying.

He let out a slow breath.

"Just—just stay here with me. I don't—I don't wanna feel lonely right now."

"Okay," Claire whispered. She put her hand on his hair, then smoothed it back to tilt his face up to hers. "Let's get to bed, let this day end."

Matt gazed blankly up at her for a long moment, then turned his head into her hand. He held her wrist as he kissed it, eyebrows furrowing in something between torment and adoration.

It reminded Claire of the first time he'd kissed her wrist, after they had agreed to date for real. The gesture had unsettled her then, unsure as she was about what it meant. Now, she had the growing feeling that it meant all the love, sorrow, and promises Matt could give, if he only let himself.

Matt stood up and walked to the other side of the bed. He didn't take off his sweats, just climbed right into bed. Claire made a quick detour to turn off the lights, then got in beside him. She shivered slightly at the cold fabric, then Matt was there, curled up tight against her. Claire closed her eyes as his arm pulled her closer, their bodies pressed together perfectly.

"Thank you for coming," he whispered, the most he could say about the squalling thoughts in his head.

Her hand settled over his, fingers lacing together. Matt's breath ruffled her hair. Every one of his muscles was taut for at first, then he relaxed into her.

Claire had thought a lot about Matt since she had decided or maybe realized she couldn't untangle her heart from him. Matt was the Devil of Hell's Kitchen, he stalked crime and doled out punishment with almost zealous fervor. There was a fire in his blood he couldn't quite control, an anger than fueled every self-righteous step. The dark reality of it all was that she would suffer for it. Claire's soul may have demanded justice, but her heart screamed at pain, no matter whose it was. Someday, they both would have to reconcile Matt being the vengeful angel of Hell's Kitchen. They would have to reconcile Matt covering up his deeper wounds with this frantic need to prove he was worth  _something_  by saving everything.

But that wasn't today. Today, he wasn't battling for the city's soul or his own. Today, he— _they_ were just trying to go to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been kicking around this bush for eons, but I'm glad I can finally openly address some of Matt's habits. I've talked about him connecting best with people on a physical level, but I think physical intimacy has turned into a bandaid for all of the problems he's facing. It's an easy short cut to feeling better, and that's something he and Claire are going to have to work past together.


End file.
